


Where It Rains

by FairyLights101



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Recovery, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-26 04:18:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7559794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyLights101/pseuds/FairyLights101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all he can do to keep it together. And in a place where it always seems to rain, far away from home, but not all the heartache, he might not be able keep it together for much longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my nerdlord of a friend Lara - you've dragged me down the path of multishipping far too many times, but I've enjoyed the road. It's brought me a lot, so this is the least I can do for you, you amazing little shit.  
> -  
> Lara and I put together a playlist! Go [here](http://8tracks.com/flights01/where-it-rains-1/) to listen! More songs will be added later  
> -  
> This AU is based off the idea of "what if Iwa hadn't been there to stop Oikawa from hitting Kageyama?" And then it kinda got out of hand.

Tooru sank onto his bed with a sigh and buried his face into his hands. His body ached from the seemingly endless stream of boxes that he’d hauled up five flights of stairs and unpacked, but it had at least been worth it. His things were carefully packed away in the closet alcove and drawers, his bed made precisely with the cheap linens and duvet his mother had bought. The desk he’d claimed had been organized, pens and notebooks laid out precisely. 

Perfect. And he hated it. 

A wry smile curled his lips as he rocked back and let his hands drop into his lap. Dull gray cinderblock walls stared back at him along with a metal frame bed with a bare mattress that was just as lumpy as his was. The bed that belonged to Hajime Iwaizumi. The roommate he’d barely bothered to message over the summer because, hell, what was the point? The disappointment would come inevitably, and he wanted to put it off for as long as possible. And, judging by the text Hajime had sent him, he had another ten minutes at most. 

Tooru bit his tongue and snatched up his phone and cigarettes. He swiped his key off his desk and shoved it into his pocket as he slipped past, and he locked the door behind him. He slunk past the other kids who were moving in, their bright, broad smiles obnoxious and the parents that hung over their shoulders even more so. But he made a smile flicker onto his lips as he slid past everyone and trooped up two more flights of stairs. 

The roof was unlocked, propped open by a brick, and though it felt muggy and gross Tooru stepped out into the afternoon sun. Planters full of dying flowers dotted the roof. A chain link fence lined the edges and Tooru snorted at the flimsy shit before he strode over to the edge and sank down against a planter. He could see the cars pull up and the people that raced in and out of the building, desperate to beat the oncoming storm, and he watched them go as he tapped a clove cigarette out. 

A twitch of his thumb made a wavering flame flicker to life, and Tooru held his lighter up for a moment, the fingers of his free hand just a few centimeters away from the flame for a moment before he dropped his hand and held it to the cigarette and sucked hard. It filled the air with the scent of lemongrass and Tooru inhaled deeply as he shut his eyes, clenched them tight. 

_ I’m fucking tired _ . Hopefully Hajime wouldn’t be too loud because Tooru had every intention of taking a nap after he hauled his ass back to their room and helped him unpack like the good little samaritan he dutifully pretended to be. 

_ I’ll give it an hour. Maybe two _ . Probably not though. His body itched, his fingers couldn’t stay still. He wanted to  _ move _ . But his stomach churned and that heavy weight was back on his chest, dangerously close to making it cave in and smother him. Tooru sucked on the first cigarette until it singed his fingers and he flicked it aside before he reached for another.  _ I should call Mom _ . His lips twisted and the shit churning in his stomach curdled, leaden. 

He didn’t light the cigarette immediately. Instead he pulled his phone out, fiddled with it for a moment before he sighed quietly to himself, let his head drop, and slowly punched in the numbers. Even the monotone default rings made him cringe as he pulled his knees in tighter, dug his fingers into the exposed flesh by his ankle. Something clicked just before the fourth ring and Tooru’s breath caught for a moment. “Hey Mom.” 

_ “Hello Tooru.” _ He couldn’t help but wince at her cold tone. Maybe some part of him had expected her tone to soften and warm. Maybe he’d been an idiot.  _ “You moved in?” _

“Yeah.” 

_ “Good. You’re expected back for Christmas. Try to not drop out and waste my money _ .” 

Another click and the line went dead, and the painful breath Tooru had been holding left him in one massive rush.  _ Fuck _ . And yet he didn’t feel the faintest flicker of surprise, or even anger. Just bitter sorrow that clawed through his throat, tried to choke him as he lit the cigarette with trembling hands. 

Curls of smoke rose into the air, slow and steady. Solid. Unchanging. Right until the wind snatched them. He sagged back against the planter with a shuddering sigh that sent plumes of smoke curling off his lips in rippling waves. He sucked down another deep breath, held the smoke deep in his lungs. Imagined it swirling inside, seeping into all the little pieces and slowly turning them black. His fingers twitched, ached for something to hold. Instead he tightened his grip on the lighter and exhaled as he let his head drop back. The smoke melded with the clouds, blurred into some indistinct mess. Or perhaps that was just the dampness in his eyes doing that. 

When the cigarette was down to a nub he straightened up, plucked it from his lips. A twitch of his fingers tugged his sleeve up and Tooru studied the skin on the inside of his arm for a long moment before he pressed the smoldering cigarette butt into the crook of his arm. The prickles of pain made his breath catch, it always did, but he held the cigarette in place for ten seconds, fifteen, before he pulled it off and dropped it. He crushed it underfoot as he rose and dusted his arm off before he tugged his sleeve back into place, nails gliding over far too many similar marks to count. 

Another sigh, this one hitched with a mirthless laugh. “Well this sucks.” Dead father, distant mother. No friends, not even one online, and a bad reputation that chased after him.  _ No one here knows my name. I could start over _ . But he could only fake the smile for so long, could only pretend for short amounts of time before he grew weary of it. It wouldn’t be long before someone found out or before he lost control and let that ugly side out. The side that needed to die. 

_ But isn’t that side more like the whole? _

Tooru pressed his fingertips to his temples as he hunched in on himself, breaths quick, the world a blur. His breath hitched and caught as he sank his teeth into his tongue, harsh, His chest was tight, clutched by a vice, and his eyes burned with tears that wouldn’t,  _ couldn’t _ , fall. One breath. Two. By the thirteenth breath his pulse slowed. On the twentieth his breathing ceased to falter, steadied out. On twenty-nine the numbing ache ebbed and by the thirty-seventh it had passed completely and he raised his head once more. 

Gentle whispers of wind tugged on his clothes, his hair, stole his puffed breaths as he stared across the campus. People milled around, seemingly aimless, senseless. They didn’t have a clue he was up there, up above all the rest, with an unbearable ache that had settled in the core of his being, immovable, and a twitch in his fingers for something more. Well, not the more that everyone else wanted. Something far darker. Tooru smiled faintly as he rose to his feet, a little unsteady, and curled his fingers into the cool chain links of the fence. 

“Idiots.” 

But his words, his thoughts, his very existence meant nothing. Only the breeze heard him, and it snatched away his words like a jealous lover or a thief, left him all alone. And yet he tucked his things back into his pockets, mussed his hair, tugged his lips until a vague, polite smile reappeared, and moved. He kicked the brick out of the door and let it slam shut behind him as he jogged down the stairs, a blur beneath his feet. He dodged past people, blocked at their calls, worked his way to his room. The door was wide open, four people inside. 

Two parents - they looked like the kind with a nice two-story house with a big backyard and a dog and a minivan, and that made Tooru want to sneer - a little kid, and an older boy. 

The older one glanced up after a few seconds and spotted him first, and Tooru swallowed hard. Hajime - that  _ had _ to be Hajime - was large. Well, he was probably shorter than Tooru, but he was significantly more built, thick with muscles that were clearly defined and on prominent display in his tank top and cargo shorts. Dark brown hair cut short, piercings in his ears, a scar on his chin. 

_ He looks like those other kids _ . 

The ones who had locked him in the gym closet overnight. Stuffed him into a stall and shoved him face-first into a toilet. So on. But he was also undeniably attractive, absurdly so, and all of it together made Tooru’s faux smile freeze and waver, just for a moment. Hajime blinked at him and his brows arched up slightly before he straightened up and held out his hand. “Hey. Are you Tooru Oikawa?” 

“Yeah. That’s me. It’s nice to meet you.” The brightness in his own voice made him want to retch, but Tooru bit his tongue again and held his hand out. Hajime clasped his hand, his palm rough and large and surprisingly cool, and he dipped his head to Tooru before he stepped back. Tooru turned to Hajime’s parents and held his hand out. “Hi. I’m Tooru Oikawa. I look forward to sharing the room with your son.” 

The two beamed at Tooru, and that fragile smile abruptly felt like it wasn’t enough, but he desperately clung to it, pinned it in place with all he had as the Iwaizumis introduced themselves and their other son, Jin. Their voices fell into the whitewash of Tooru’s mind and he nodded and smiled carefully as they spoke, the words senseless, blank in his mind. And then he opened his idiotic mouth, though thankfully the right words came out. “Would you like some help unpacking?”  _ Idiot. This won’t stop anything. You should’ve stayed on the roof. _

Mrs. Iwaizumi beamed at him, but Hajime’s brow creased as he shifted forwards. “What about your parents? Won’t they need you?” 

“Oh, Hajime, you’re right! Tooru, you don’t need to. I’m sure your parents would like to spend time with you!” 

Pain throbbed in his mouth from how hard he bit his tongue to keep smiling, to not spin around and stalk out and slam the door shut. He could feel it curling inside, poisonous, oily tendrils of black that crept up, demanded to be heard. He just swallowed hard. He shook his head, shrugged, kept on smiling. “I came up alone. My mother is very busy.” 

Both of Hajime’s parents frowned at that, but, in the awkward silence that followed none of them questioned. Just gave him a smile after a moment as Mr. Iwaizumi spoke up. “That’d be very kind of you to help them. Thanks.” 

“It’s no problem!”  _ But it is. This doesn’t matter _ . But Tooru needed to do something, needed something to focus his mind. 

For the most part it was fairly quiet while they unpacked, only the sound of voices outside, the happy tune of Jin’s DS, and a few quiet sentences broke it all up. The movements were methodical, required no thought. Perfectly numbing. So much that Tooru almost didn’t realize he was done until he peeked back into the boxes and realized they were all empty. He bent down to grab one of them but a tan hand reached forwards too and Tooru snatched his hand back, heart in his throat, and straightened up. Hajime shot him a curious glance before he grabbed the box and stacked it inside another. “You good?” 

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Okay. Figured you’d be overheated wearing all that.” Tooru bit his lip as he tugged on his sleeves and glanced down at the jeans he wore, his clothes heavy and dark and concealing unlike what everyone else wore. “I get cold easily.” 

Hajime eyed him for a moment, but he nodded and hummed with a shrug as he turned back and stacked the rest of the boxes. “Tooru?” Hajime’s parents stared at him, curious and hopeful, and that made his stomach drop. “Would you like to come eat a late lunch with us?” 

_ No _ . “I’d love to, but-” 

“Oh, come on, Tooru,” Mr. Iwaizumi broke in, “We’ll pay, and we’d like to hear a little about our son’s roommate.” 

All eyes were on him, expectant, and Tooru wanted to squirm as he swallowed hard and forced another smile, weaker than the one before. “I’d love to.” 

He didn’t understand how they couldn’t hear the blatant lie, how they couldn’t see the fragility in his eyes. They just smiled and gathered their things and ushered him out the door, through the crowded halls, and down into the street. Hajime’s parents and Jin led the way, eager and curious, but Hajime hung back with him. Logically Tooru knew it shouldn’t have been so frustrating, but he wanted to scowl and push Hajime, make him join his family. But instead he smiled under Hajime’s scrutiny. Kept his face light. It wasn’t too hard anymore. It just left him feeling hollow. 

They found a diner on campus, a cozy but fairly crowded place, and they stepped in. Tooru wasn’t sure if the fact that they got seated almost immediately was a good thing or a bad, but it was bad either way because Hajime took the chair beside him while his parents and little brother took the other side of the booth. They ordered drinks and Tooru did his best to hide behind his menu as eyes started to wander and settle. It only took two minutes for the first question to come. 

“So Tooru, what high school did you go to?” 

“Johzenji High. It was a pretty small school.” And yet his reputation had still chased him because some people couldn’t stop bringing it up. And he couldn’t stop remembering. “What about you, Iwa?”

Mrs. Iwaizumi’s mouth twitched up into a smile at the nickname, but Hajime’s eye twitched slightly, irritated, before he rolled his eyes. “Aobajosai. It’s a pretty big school, big on sports.” 

_ I know _ . 

“Definitely,” Mr. Iwaizumi added. “Because of Hajime we spent a lot of time at tournaments and practices, but it was certainly worth it. Hajime is very good at volleyball. He’s actually on the school’s team.” 

Tooru’s throat tightened and his smile crumbled completely this time. Of course. Of fucking course he played  _ volleyball _ of all things.  _ God must have a grudge against me even though I apologized for accidentally burning that Bible when I was seven _ . 

“Tooru?” 

The brunet blinked, glanced up from the faintly greasy tabletop. Four pairs of eyes were on him, confusion and concern on their faces. Tooru’s stomach churned as he shrank into himself slightly and forced a smile, weaker than all the rest. “Tooru, sweetheart, are you okay?” Mrs. Iwaizumi reached for his hand, but he snatched it back as he nodded. 

“Y-yeah, I’m good. I… used to play volleyball, but… some things happened, so I stopped playing.” 

“Oh, Tooru…” Hajime’s brow furrowed, and the sympathy on the Iwaizumis’ faces made him want to cringe, made him want to flip the table.  _ If only you fucking knew _ . 

He swallowed hard, throat tight with bitterness and rage, but he bit his raw tongue, forced up another smile. “It’s in the past.”  _ No it’s not _ . “Iwa, what position do you play?” 

“I’m a spiker. I was the ace at Aobajosai.” 

“That’s awesome! I bet you’ll be the ace here too. I was a setter myself.” 

Hajime nodded and the careful look slowly melted away as he shifted a little closer. “I bet you were good.” 

“I was okay.” He was good until that genius had come along. Until he’d ruined it all for himself. Those dark eyes narrowed again, but the waitress interrupted them before anything else could be said. Her presence didn’t last long enough, and Tooru chewed on his lip with harsh teeth.  _ I shouldn’t have come. I should’ve just stayed on the damn roof _ . But he hadn’t - he’d been an idiot. Just like always. 

But thankfully the conversation didn’t immediately turn to him. Instead it turned to the volleyball team, questions about practices. And yet that made his stomach twist and everything in it congeal into a hard, heavy blob. It made his hands shake, though from exactly which emotion he couldn’t begin to tell. By the time the food came the conversation had tapered away from volleyball, and the glances began to return to him. “Tooru, what kind of things do you like to do?” 

He shrugged and swallowed his bite of sandwich, picked at the edges of his fingers. “I run a lot, and I read. I don’t really do a lot that’s interesting.” Generic. Basic. Rarely questioned. 

“Doubtful,” Hajime murmured, and Tooru swore a vein pulsed in his temple as Hajime chewed on a fry while he stared, a vague smile on his lips. 

“Just you wait, Iwa. I’ll bore you so much that you’ll want to change roommates in a week.” Hajime snorted and shook his head. Tooru merely smiled, faint and wry, as he picked at his sandwich, barely hungry. “What about you, Iwa?” 

“I run, but I’ll be conditioning a lot with the team too. I watch movies sometimes and I read.” 

“Not just sometimes,” his mother mumbled, but when Hajime glanced up she met his stare with an innocent little smile. 

“What about classes?” Mr. Iwaizumi prodded. 

_ Stop asking questions _ . He wanted to slam his hands on the table, wanted the desperation to bleed through his voice as he begged. But he didn’t. He never did. “I have chemistry at eight and English at ten on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and Japanese at nine, freshman seminar at eleven, and European history at one on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.” 

“So we’ll have English and freshman seminar together,” Hajime murmured with a nod. 

_ You’ve got to be fucking kidding me _ . But he bit back a scowl, his dozenth time for the day, and smiled at Hajime. “That’s nice.” 

“Definitely! You two can study together.” Hajime hummed noncommittally and Tooru nodded weakly. There was no guarantee they’d study thankfully, and Tooru hoped it would stay like that. The less time they spent together the better. “What are you going to major in, Tooru?” 

“Business probably.” The words were cotton in his mouth, the response just one of the many messages on a record worn thin from all the times it had been played. And, sure enough, that made Mr. and Mrs. Iwaizumi’s brows arch up, impressed. Business always did that, and it urged fewer questions to come forth. Say law and suddenly they thought you had a tragic backstory or were someone of superb moral character -  _ definitely _ not him. Say medicine and they thought you were a good, righteous person determined to save the world.  _ Bullshit _ . Arts and they’d ask to see his sketches. They’d think he was wasting his money - his mother had told him as much. So business was the safest answer. Always. Even though his fingers twitched and his heart twisted, and the words were bitter on his tongue. “What about you, Iwa?” 

“I’m gonna get a degree to teach English and P.E.” 

“Hajime is a good teacher,” Jin piped up, and his parents smiled fondly at him. 

“I’m going to coach volleyball when I’m done in college too. I’m already helping out with local teams.” 

“That’s nice.” Nice. Personable. Perfect.  _ Everything I’m not _ . But that was a given. It always was. And Tooru gave him a thin-lipped smile as he nodded and bit into his sandwich. It tasted like ash. But no one noticed - they just laughed as Mr. Iwaizumi cracked a joke and Jin giggled between his parents light and bubbly. And yet he could feel the weight of Hajime’s eyes on him, heavy enough that the hairs on the back of his neck pricked. 

So he glanced outside instead. Watched as the clouds rolled and shifted and thunder rumbled through the air. Watched as lightning danced its way across the sky while the people below dashed for cover, and rain started to fall. A slow, lone drop at first. The diner’s door opened with a jingle and in came the scent of ozone, of rain. And down it came, an unceremonious cascade that washed the world away with its steady drum and the haze it conjured from the hot cement. 

_ If only it would wash the world away. _ A massive flood that swept away everyone - the kids at his old middle school, the genius, his mother, the Iwaizumis. Everything in one great big rush of unstoppable water. His fingers twitched and the heavy hand on his heart, his lungs, loosened for a split second, just long enough to suck down a short breath. And in that moment he felt weightless, alone. Nothing but a pane of glass that fogged up from the rain and his breath, and the steady thrum of rain on the roof, the glass, the pavement. 

And then fingers brushed across his elbow, snapped him back to the unbearably heavy world, and Tooru blinked as he turned. Mr. and Mrs. Iwaizumi were engrossed in a conversation. Jin was busy with his fries, drawing something senseless in the ketchup. But Hajime’s eyes were on him, focused, charged. “Oikawa?” 

Smiling felt like an impossible task, and yet he somehow managed. “What Iwa? Can’t I appreciate the rain?” 

The other student’s brows furrowed and he pulled his arm back, but then he gestured to Tooru’s plate. “Are you going to finish?” 

Tooru glanced at the half of the sandwich left. His stomach churned. He felt sick, not hungry. He shrugged, nonchalant, and flashed an easy smile at Hajime. “I can’t finish it. I have a small stomach.” 

“That’s true,” Hajime muttered, and his brown eyes flicked down. Tooru reflectively shrank in on himself, shifted his legs, sucked his stomach in, and bit his lip as he pressed his side into the wall.  _ Don’t. Stop _ . “What’re you talking about, Iwa? I’m perfectly healthy!” 

“... Whatever.” 

Tooru bit his lip and, as if to prove a point, he snatched his sandwich up and took a sizeable bite. It took everything he had to not throw up as he slowly, painstakingly chewed and swallowed. He couldn’t set it back down quick enough. “I really can’t eat anymore.” Hajime eyed him for a moment longer before he shrugged, nodded, and turned back to his own plate. Yet he made sure to ask for a box and pressed it into Tooru’s hands when it came. 

The drum of rain had lightened by the time they gathered their things and sorted out the check - Mr. Iwaizumi had smothered Tooru’s protests and had turned a deaf ear on him as he’d marched up to the counter and paid for all five meals. Something that only made him feel far worse than before. He was almost out the door, right on Mrs. Iwaizumi’s heels, when Hajime’s fingers curled around his elbow again and pulled him to a halt. The tall man raised an eyebrow and held up an umbrella. “Share with me. Unless you like pneumonia.” 

“Maybe I do, Iwa.” 

Yet he let Hajime lead the way, watched as he opened the black umbrella and stepped beneath the little shelter it provided. Their shoulders were a little too wide to fit beneath it comfortably, and the amount of space Tooru put between them left him with a wet shoulder, but the day was too warm to care. Not that it mattered either way. Tooru bit his tongue, his cheek, focused on one step, then the next. Conversation washed over him in waves like the rain, but, thankfully, he didn’t have to speak up. He wasn’t entirely sure he could have managed that. They trooped into the dorm, shoes squeaking on the slick, dirty tiles, and flooded into the elevator. 

They spilled out onto the fifth floor and Hajime let them back into their room, his hands frustratingly certain. He moved over to his bed, busied his hands by mindlessly straightening things as soft, warm goodbyes ate burning holes through his stomach and bones, left him hollow and weak.  _ I hate this _ . He hated the bitter taste of jealousy, the leaden weight in his gut. The wrenches of disappointment, the pangs of disgust. But, most of all, he hated every last fiber of his own being. And he was okay with that. 

“Tooru?” 

He glanced up, smile fixed, and nodded. “It was nice to meet you. I hope we see each other again soon.” 

“Us as well.” 

And then the Iwaizumi’s were gone, the door shut quietly behind them. Tooru immediately sank onto his bed with a muted sigh he nearly couldn’t bite back. The heavy weight of those eyes settled on him again as he pressed his back to the concrete wall, bare feet curled over the edge of his mattress, and closed his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. 

It took Hajime thirty-seven breaths to break the silence with his low, rough voice. “Why didn’t you e-mail me back over the summer?” 

“I did.” 

“Yeah. Five times.” 

Tooru smiled, tugged his expression into something that vaguely resembled chagrin, and shrugged. “I was busy.” Hajime snorted. Thunder rolled, long and low. Tooru’s eyes cracked open as lightning flashed and his lips fell into a scowl. Something ugly. “What’s it matter? Obviously didn’t change our rooming arrangement. I’m going to sleep. Keep it down, Iwaizumi.” 

Hajime’s eyebrows scrunched together, confused, probably at the use of his last name rather than ‘Iwa’ or Hajime, but Tooru didn’t give a damn. He just snatched the blanket from the foot of his bed and huddled up into a ball on his damp side, his back to Hajime. Even that couldn’t ease the pangs of guilt, the barbs of distress. 

_ Why do I keep doing this? _ He knew why - because what else could he do? The sooner they saw the ugly side of him the better. Because he was fucking  _ tired _ of trying to fake it everyday only to fail in the end.  _ I’m just tired. Really, really freaking tired _ . 

He clenched his hands, pressed his thumb to the fresh burn and pressed until tingles of pain worked their way up through his arm. He couldn’t cry, couldn’t feel. Could only focus on the steady drum of rain against the windows and the way Hajime quietly sighed before he rose, rustled around, and sank back down onto the bed. Tooru curled in tighter on himself, pressed cold fingers into his arms, and tried desperately to think of something, anything. Anything but the hideous, festering corpse he’d become. And all the while it rained, steady and muted.  _ I don’t want to be alone. _


	2. Chapter 2

Hajime leaned against the wall, blanket pooled around his waist, the morning air cool on his bare chest and arms. His eyes flicked from the unoccupied bed across from him to the bathroom door. Tooru had woken nearly twenty minutes before and, though his movements had been quiet, they had still roused Hajime, though that couldn’t be helped when he slept so lightly. He’d have gotten up soon anyway. 

Pale white light shone from his phone with big numbers that proclaimed it was twenty-five after five. Just a few minutes until his alarm would go off anyway. He wasn’t quite focused on that though. He was more focused on the soft rush of the shower, the even softer hums that the water nearly masked. 

He’d known Tooru, officially anyway, for under twenty-four hours and he was beyond baffled. Tooru was strange in the first place - minimal contact, no personal information, no picture, nothing to go on. And so he’d frozen up when Tooru had first appeared because he hadn’t expected someone so  _ beautiful _ to walk in. Surely to God someone who looked like that would be more than willing to send pictures, to talk enough to make Hajime regret ever agreeing to being his roommate - and yet he hadn’t. 

And the longer Hajime had stared at Tooru, the more he took in, the more he realized. Tooru was thin -  _ very _ thin. Not worryingly so, but it was noticeable. Something was off with his smiles and his eyes. They were distant. Guarded. Uncertain. And, for a split second in that diner, Hajime was certain that Tooru’s guard had dropped and shown something that was raw, painfully so.  _ He’s strange. _ Pushing probably wouldn’t help though. It certainly hadn’t the night before. Instead it had cooled Tooru’s voice and snatched that strange little nickname away and replaced it with frigid words and a frosty ‘Iwaizumi’.  _ I wonder what I did _ . 

His phone lit up and a tune too cheerful for such an early hour filled the room, broke the silence. Hajime silenced it with a grunt and turned the other alarms off as well. He threw his legs out of the bed and padded through the dark room on quiet feet until he reached the light switch and flicked it. He blinked, blinded, as he moved to the closet alcoves and rummaged around for his workout clothes. 

Hajime was lacing up his shoes when Tooru walked out of the bathroom, his hair swaddled in a mint green towel and fully dressed in another dark long-sleeved shirt with an alien on the front and dark pants. Tooru froze in the doorway as their eyes locked, but his shoulders dropped after a moment and he moved further into the room. “Did I wake you up?” 

“I’m a light sleeper.”

“I’m… sorry.” 

“You’re fine.” 

But Tooru still bit his lip and fidgeted, but he nodded after a few seconds. The brunet plopped down onto his bed and immediately tucked his legs beneath him, and for a few minutes only the sound of rustling filled the room as Hajime laced up his shoes and straightened his bed. He glanced back when he was done, found Tooru fiddling with his fingers. 

Questions bubbled at Hajime’s lips, desperate to be spoken, and he turned around fully. “Oikawa, why are you awake?” 

“Couldn’t sleep.” 

Hajime bit back a comment. Considering how early Tooru had gone to sleep he should have been well-rested, yet dark bags marred the skin beneath his eyes, made him look like he hadn’t slept well in months, if ever.  _ He could have insomnia _ . But something made Hajime hesitate, even as he straightened up. “Hey, Oikawa.” The brunet hummed and glanced up as his hands stilled in the towel in his hair. “We have workouts today, but no practice. So… do you want to hang out later?” 

A strange look flickered across Tooru’s face, distant and unreadable. And then, slowly, a smile bloomed, faint but there nonetheless. “Sure.” 

“Alright. We can get lunch later too. I’ll see you then.” 

Tooru raised his hand in a tiny wave as Hajime gathered his bag and moved. He hesitated by the door, uncertain. Tooru’s face was turned down to his phone, but the smile had fallen away and left a strange expression behind on his face. But Hajime’s watch beeped at him before he could ponder over it and he slipped out and shut the door tight behind him. 

The halls were quiet, and only a few people occupied the commons area on the ground floor. He paid them no attention and jogged across campus at an easy pace, the air cool. The gym was unlocked, the lights on, and Takahiro was outside when he jogged up, earbuds tucked into his ears. He only realized Hajime was there when the brunet clapped Takahiro’s back with a small smile. “Shit Hanamaki, could you be any less observant?” 

The other player pulled his earbuds out and stuck his tongue out as he laughed and fell into pace with Hajime, their steps quick and their shoes squeaking on the lobby tiles. “Sorry Iwaizumi, I guess I just don’t wanna listen to you and all that hot air you blow.” 

“Liar.” 

Takahiro just flashed a smile at him and shrugged as they shouldered their way into the gym. He’d met Takahiro and a dozen other players at a little camp the team had held the week before move-in day, and he seemed like a good person, both on the court and off. He didn’t fill the comfortable silence with incessant chatter, and for that Hajime was thankful - he had too much to sort out in his head and not enough time to do it.  _ And the first day has barely started. Thank God it’s Saturday _ . 

The men’s volleyball locker room had more life than he’d seen thus far - fifteen guys, not including he and Takahiro, occupied the space, all in various states of dress, and when they walked in a chorus of greetings filled the room, then a snap and laughter as attention turned to a pair in the back, one with a towel in his hands and the other clutching his bare ass with a frown. 

“Yo, Iwaizumi!” one of the players - Issei Matsukawa - called - “Your locker is over here! Hanamaki, you’re here!” Issei was a freshman as well, though he’d obviously already settled in with the upperclassmen because as Hajime approached Issei cracked a joke and a fair number of them burst into laughter. Hajime listened with half an ear as he stuffed his bag into the locker with his name written on the little whiteboard on it, a five beneath it. The number four jersey belonged to a third year, Hikaru Ushijima.  _ For now _ . 

Hajime smiled faintly to himself as he grabbed his towel and water bottle and turned. The players were full of life, most of them wide awake, and they were more than eager to welcome him into their midst with claps on the backs and loud questions that took him ages to pick apart so he could try to answer them all. 

Coach Arakawa strode in at six, and by then the team had finished off the breakfast bars one of the fourth years had brought, and they were silent for the first time since Hajime had walked in. Arakawa introduced them to their trainer, Coach Itoh, and gave a basic rundown of the practice and workout schedule, and he handed out several sheets of paper as well. By six fifteen they were in one of the weight rooms, already occupied by the small swim team, though they were on the far machines - almost done with their workouts one of the seniors provided at the questioning glances. 

They quickly broke up into groups and headed to the treadmills for a warmup jog. Within seconds they filled the room with the slap of feet on the belts and the quiet puffs of breath, and a few snatches of conversation here and there. Someone turned on music, a bright, energetic tune Hajime didn’t recognize. Issei did though, and he hummed as he ran, a small grin on his face that made Hajime roll his eyes, though not out of malice, and Takahiro laughed when he spotted that. 

Slowly the sounds fell away, as did his thoughts. Mind empty, Hajime ran, focused on the stretch of every muscle, the way his ribcage expanded, how his heart thumped away in his chest to a steady elevated tempo. Just the slap of his feet and the wall in front of him, painted gold and black with the dragon mascot coiled up in front of him. 

_ I wonder what Oikawa is doing _ . 

The invasive thought made his feet stutter, but he managed to not go face-first into the floor to his relief, though Takahiro flashed him a curious glance that Hajime shook off, breathless and at a loss for words. He probably couldn’t have explained it even if he’d tried. They ran for half an hour before Coach Itoh called them back to stretch, get some water, and then to hit the machines. The exercises and the words of his teammates blurred through Hajime’s mind as his arms and legs slowly started to feel the burn with every squat, deadlift, bench press, push up, and sit up. 

But he  _ liked _ it. He liked the way Issei managed to fill the air with talk about his high school, how Hikaru asked them about their plans for their majors, how Coach Itoh teased them and kept the mood light, even as he corrected form and reprimanded those who goofed off a little too much.  _ This is good. _ It only confirmed that he’s chosen a good school, a good team.  _ I can’t wait to start practicing _ . 

Their workout finished at seven thirty and the players poured into the locker room, slick with sweat and out of breath, and almost every face he saw was bright and flushed with excitement and exertion. Thankfully the locker room had showers they could use, and the team eagerly rushed to those and washed off, their voices loud and echoing in the tile-lined room, even over the hiss of steamy water. 

Hajime was the first one out, though when he tugged his change of clothes on and slung his bag onto his back one of the seniors, Allen Kita, poked his head out. “Yo, Iwaizumi, there’s a party at my apartment next Friday. You wanna come?” 

“Ah, sure.” 

The senior flashed him a grin and a thumbs up. “Good! Who knows, maybe you’ll meet a pretty girl there.” 

“Doubtful.” 

“Dude then?” “More likely.” Allen grinned as he hitched his towel up higher and waggled his eyebrows. “I’ll make sure to invite some extra cute ones then! See ya, Iwaizumi.” 

“Don’t break your neck, Kita.” Allen just laughed as he ducked back into the showers and Hajime snorted to himself with a shake of his head. The campus was infinitely more alive at eight, though it was already warm and muggy, and fresh storm clouds had started to gather in the west, thick and gray. 

“They weren’t exaggerating about the rain,” he murmured to himself as he started to walk towards the dining hall. The rain was alright though, he could handle that easily. Half the things he’d brought up were waterproof, and he could manage with what wasn’t. Plus he wouldn’t look like a total idiot if he went around in rain boots - half the people he passed were already wearing them. 

The cafeteria was filled with chatter, but he ignored the people and the noise as he made a beeline for one of the counters. He filled a bowl with cereal and dropped a few fruits onto his tray, but he hesitated for a moment there before he snatched up two blueberry muffins.  _ He’s probably eaten already _ . And yet he didn’t put the second one back, just marched over to the cashier, swiped his meal card, and found an unoccupied table by the far wall. 

He was two bites into his cereal when Issei and Takahiro plopped down too, uninvited but not unwelcome. They grinned at him, smiles easy, and Hajime nodded at them as he chewed and swallowed. “Hey.” 

“Hey Hajime. Damn, you got onto me for being oblivious, but you didn’t even hear us calling after you!” 

Hajime blinked at Takahiro and shrugged with a small smirk. “Maybe I just didn’t want to hear you.” 

Takahiro clutched at his chest and gasped, dark eyes wide with horror. “Iwaizumi, how  _ dare _ ? I’m so offended!” 

Issei snorted, rolled his eyes, and shoved Takahiro’s apple into his mouth. “You’re such a loser, Hanamaki.” 

Takahiro huffed at Issei, but he bit into the apple with a crunch and a hum. The lull in conversation gave Hajime a chance to shovel down bites of cereal as he studied the two across from him with curious eyes, soaking in details he hadn’t had time to see before. 

Takahiro had light brown hair, now with a pink tinge from dye, and his brown eyes were bright with an undercurrent of mischief, even though his expression was perfectly calm. There was a flash of silver every time he spoke, a ball nestled on his tongue, and there was a stud in his nose, both piercings something he would have pegged Issei for instead, except Issei was bare of piercings. He did have crazy hair though, even though it had just been washed, and Hajime watched, a little amused, as Takahiro tugged on Issei’s black curls with a grin. 

Both were interesting - their personalities were almost opposite in some ways, yet they clicked well, something he hadn’t had a chance to notice at the camp. They’d gotten along well as players though, and that left questions in Hajime’s mind as he eyed the two, ones that he voiced. “Did you two go to the same high school?” 

Takahiro and Issei glanced at each other, their cheeks bulging with food they’d stuffed in. Issei managed to finish chewing and swallowing first and he nodded with a grin. “Yep, me’n Taka have played together since middle school! And he’s still a prude little asshole.” 

“And you’re still a moron.” 

“Hey! Mean!” Takahiro smirked as he finished off his second orange, then gestured to Hajime. “I’m rooming with this dildo. What about you?” 

“A guy called Tooru Oikawa.” 

“Is he nice?” 

“I guess.” 

“Don’t worry too much if he’s not,” Issei broke in. “We’re planning on renting an apartment or house next year, so you should join us!” 

“That sounds nice.” 

Issei grinned and nodded before he turned and said something to Takahiro, but Hajime didn’t listen. His thoughts had snapped back to Tooru, the strange, unreadable roommate with an even stranger smile.  _ I wonder what he’s doing. _

He didn’t know what Tooru liked, what he did.  _ I don’t know anything about him _ . And, strangely, that worried him more than it had with anyone else, but he couldn’t even chalk it up to them being roommates. Tooru just didn’t seem like the kind of person to be closed off and flippant like he was, and it baffled Hajime.  _ Hell, keep this up and you’ll have to switch to a psychology major, Hajime _ . 

“Hajime,” Issei sang, and the tone of his voice made it clear that it wasn’t the first time. Hajime glanced up and met two amused stares. “What’re you thinking so hard about?” 

“How much porn I’d find on your computer if I looked.” 

Issei’s mouth moved, but only stuttered, jumbled words came out as he flushed cherry-red, and then he buried his face into his hands and scrubbed as his flushed cheeks. Hajime and Takahiro grinned at each other as Takahiro patted his friend’s back. “He’s such an innocent little thing sometimes. I don’t know how I haven’t ruined  _ that _ yet.” 

“You’re both assholes and I hate you both.” 

“You love us.” 

“Do not!” 

Takahiro just laughed and ruffled his friend’s hair, the move gentle. A fond expression flickered across Takahiro’s face, and the hard planes of his cheeks softened, so subtly that if Hajime hadn’t been watching he wouldn’t have caught it.  _ So it’s like that for him _ . 

Hajime smiled to himself as he piled up the trash on his tray and plucked Tooru’s muffin off the table. The pair glanced up and he smiled. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you guys around.” 

“Alright, have fun.” 

“I’ll text ya, Iwaizumi!” 

He waved at them over his shoulder, dumped his tray, and stole out of the dining hall with a hum. The walk across campus was quick, though the air was even muggier than before, and thunder rumbled in the distance. 

Hajime reached his dorm and took the stairs two at a time, a great idea until he remembered that all the exercises had left his legs a little weak and that he still had four more flights to go. Despite that he managed to climb his floor in good time and slowly eased the door shut behind him as he stepped out into the hall. The dorm was quiet - most of the people were probably at the dining hall or still asleep. His room was locked, and he fumbled with the key for a moment before he managed to let himself in. 

The greeting on his lips faltered at the lack of light in the room and it died out completely when his eyes fell onto Tooru’s bed. The brunet was tangled in a dull blue blanket with one leg poking out, slung off the bed in a way that let his toes drag the floor. His fingers, which poked out from beneath the blanket near his face, were smudged and glossy with grays, a matching smear on his cheek. A book lay just by his head - a sketchbook Hajime realized after a moment. 

He quietly shut the door, toed his shoes off, dropped his bag, and crept across the room. He set the muffin down on Tooru’s desk as he moved past, then moved to beside his bed. Tooru’s mouth was parted and soft breaths puffed out as his lips twitched subtly. His hair was tousled and wild, falling over his eyes and forehead, careless. Hajime’s breath caught as he stared, frozen in place. His fingers twitched - he wanted to reach out and brush Tooru’s hair back, wanted to touch his cheek.  _ He’s so peaceful _ . Serene, beautiful, breathtaking. Strange. And that only made curiosity tug at his heart as he pulled his hand back, then slowly let it fall forwards. 

Tooru’s eyes flickered, but his breaths remained steady and soft and his eyes didn’t open as Hajime brushed his bangs off his forehead, touch cautious, almost reverent. The hairs were silky soft beneath his fingers, and he couldn’t help but run his fingers through Tooru’s bangs once, then again, and then he pulled back and retreated to his bed. He curled up, legs folded, and he pressed his back to the cool cement wall. 

For a long minute he eyed Tooru, and then he rolled his shoulders and tapped on his phone and pulled up a game, the sounds muted. It was a long while and several dozen levels before Tooru started to shift with soft sounds and subtle twitches of his limbs before his eyes finally cracked open. 

Tooru managed to pry his face from the duvet a few seconds later, one side of his face red and lined with indents from his deep sleep. His bleary brown eyes settled on Hajime slowly, and he blinked with a quiet hum. “How long’ve you been here?” 

“Not long.” 

A glance at the time and he guessed an hour, maybe more, since he’d actually walked into the room, but he didn’t say, just watched as Tooru slowly straightened up, rubbed his cheek, and yawned. Hajime couldn’t tear his eyes away, but when Tooru’s shirt started to ride up the brunet dropped a hand, shoved it back down into place, his cheeks bright red. Hajime had to bite his tongue to not laugh and he shook his head slowly instead. Tooru eyed him as he rubbed his cheek once more and swept his hand through his hair. Yet Tooru left the room in silence, didn’t say anything - they just eyed each other for a few long moments before Hajime finally spoke. “How did you sleep?” 

Tooru’s hands froze in his hair, then fell into his lap as his fingers twitched and danced and something flashed across his face before it settled into something vague and indecipherable. “Good. Makes up for not sleeping well last night. Um… how was your workout?” 

“It was good. It was nice to see the guys again. Oh - one of the guys invited me to a party next weekend. Do you wanna come?” 

The second the words left his mouth he wished he could have snatched them back because Tooru blanched and shrank back as his smile flickered for a second before it snapped back, strained. “No… no, I’m fine. I… don’t really like parties. Sorry.” 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just a party.” 

Tooru just shrugged and tucked his knees in close so he could settle his chin on them. His toenails were painted mint green and Hajime couldn’t help but smile as he watched Tooru’s toes curl.  _ I’m not even surprised. _ Hajime’s eyes drifted, fell back on the sketchbook and he shifted forwards a little, head cocked. “Do you like to draw?” 

Tooru’s gray-stained hands twitched and he glanced at his sketchbook as he swallowed, wrinkled his nose. “Y-yeah… i-it’s something I do occasionally.” 

“Do you mind if I look?” 

_ “Yes!” _ His voice shot up, sharp, and they both froze, Tooru’s eyes wide and Hajime rigid with shock and confusion. Tooru’s fingers jerked, pressed overtop the book, his knuckles white, his fingers rigid. “I-I… no. You  _ can’t  _ look.” His voice was a whisper, feeble and almost  _ scared _ . 

Hajime swallowed hard and bit his tongue before he managed to speak, his voice soft. “I… I’m sorry.” 

Tooru’s eyes fell. His body was tense, tight and uncertain, and the fragility Hajime had seen before was abruptly infinitely more obvious than the other times he’d glimpsed it. “It’s not your fault,” Tooru whispered. “Why bother apologizing? It’s not like you knew.” 

Hajime shrugged, cocked his head. Tooru’s eyes flicked between his face and the book, unsure of where to settle, and Hajime bit his lip. He sighed quietly and Tooru’s gaze settled on him. “Because I didn’t mean to upset you, even if I didn’t know.” 

The other teen’s mouth opened, closed. He hesitated, shook his head. Rose a moment later and moved to his desk, sketchbook in hand. He pulled some things out of his drawers and shoved them into his pockets before Hajime could glimpse what was in his hands, but when Tooru went to set the notebook down he stilled. His fingers brushed across the crinkly plastic wrap. His eyes flicked up. “... Did you bring this for me?” 

“Yeah. I wasn’t sure if you’d already eaten.” 

Tooru’s fingers twitched, then pulled away. He turned his back to Hajime, curled his hand around the doorknob, dropped his head as he spoke. “Iwaizumi… thank you. I’ll be back in a bit.” 

“... Okay. Do you still want to watch movies later?” 

Tooru stilled, hand rigid. He nodded after a long moment. “Sure. I’ll be back.” 

And with that he disappeared with a quiet click and a rumble of thunder. Hajime sank back against the wall once more, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed.  _ What the fuck happened? _ Every time they interacted Hajime only grew more and more baffled by the unreadable, flighty nature of Tooru. He had no clue where to start unraveling the mystery of Tooru Oikawa, not with the way his personality left Hajime with what could have been a budding headache almost every time. Hajime sighed, pressed his hand into his face.  _ I’ve got a strange roommate _ . Another peal of thunder filled the skies and rain pattered against the window, a light drizzle. 

Nearly twenty minutes passed before Tooru returned, his sleeves clutched tight in his palms and a bright smile on his lips, a complete turnaround from before. It would have looked more natural had he not been soaked through, hair plastered against his head and his clothes heavy with rain. And if it hadn’t all looked so  _ wrong _ . Tooru dropped his things back onto his desk, dragged his fingers through his damp hair. “I’m back!” 

“Obviously. And soaked.” 

Tooru stuck his tongue out and flapped his hands at Hajime before he turned and rummaged through his closet alcove and pulled out fresh clothes - another long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants. Hajime just stared, confused. The personality change threatened to give him whiplash, and Hajime was fairly sure that bringing it up wouldn’t be welcome. So he bit his tongue, held his words as Tooru disappeared into the bathroom they shared with the two students next door and reappeared a few minutes later, his towel from the night before wrapped around his head and dressed in fresh clothes. 

Hajime patted his bed. “C’mon. Sit down. Let’s start up some movies.” 

Tooru was more than willing to sink down onto Hajime’s bed, but Hajime couldn’t help but notice how Tooru put as much space as possible between them - he was practically off the bed, he was so far away. Hajime decided to not say anything and fiddled with the remote instead until he pulled up Netflix and started to slowly click through the movies. The angle was a little awkward and Tooru seemed to share his thoughts because he grimaced a little and shifted. “We should bunk our beds,” Hajime said after a minute or two. 

Tooru hummed quietly, shuffled his feet. “That’d be nice.” 

“Do you want the top bunk or the bottom one?” 

“You can have the one you want, okay? It doesn’t matter to me.” 

Hajime glanced at Tooru out of the corner of his eye before he sighed and tapped the remote again. After a few minutes of silence and useless clicking Hajime sighed again - he’d done it so many times in the last twenty-four hours that he’d lost count of how many times he’d done so - and dropped his arm. “What kind of movies do you like?” 

Tooru’s face fell and his fingers tangled over his ankles, twitching and uncertain. “Um-” 

“C’mon. It’s not a big secret, is it? So unless you like the old Godzilla movie you’d better pick.” 

Tooru rolled his eyes, but it still took him several long moments to speak. “I like movies about aliens. And space. Ah, bad sci-fi movies are really nice too.” 

“See, that wasn’t so hard.” 

Tooru met those words with a scowl, but his eyes brightened when Hajime pulled up the sci-fi section. He clicked on one titled  _ Rock Jocks _ and, when Tooru smiled faintly, he entered it without hesitation. 

Rain pounded against the window, thunder made the world shake around them, and the sci-fi movie played, loud enough to drown it all out. And, with his eyes glued on the TV, Tooru smiled. It was faint, but Hajime spotted it,  _ relished _ it. That faint upturn of his lips looked  _ right _ . Hajime didn’t hesitate to switch to another sci-fi movie, then a third and fourth when those were over. Things almost felt normal like that, cheesy lines and cheesier effects in front of them, the thrum of rain on the window. 

After the fourth movie Hajime dropped the remote and stretched, and Tooru did the same with a hum as he cracked his joints and crinkled the wrapper of the muffin, which he’d eaten sometime during the second movie. Hajime’s stomach gurgled and they glanced at each other before Hajime shrugged. “Wanna get some lunch?” 

Tooru stuck his tongue into his cheek, then puffed it out, before he nodded, fingers twitching. “Sure.” 

Hajime flashed him a smile as he slid off his bed and tugged on his rainboots. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*´∀`*) It's been so long guys, I'm sorry. I went on mass hiatus last year for mental health, and then my first semester of college came around, so this hit the major back burner. This and the third chapter were already written at the time, I just had no motivation/time to post, but I'm gonna try and get back to this story and finish it out eventually! Please be patient with me ＼(;´□｀)/
> 
> Please leave comments if you like this (it's great encouragement), and follow me at [fairylights101writes](http://fairylights101writes.tumblr.com/) to keep up to date with everything involving my writing and this fic.


	3. Chapter 3

Tooru scowled as he tapped at his notebook, the page full of elegantly written notes that were totally meaningless. He’d already known the information he’d written, and yet he’d written it anyway - his hands were fidgety, desperate to move. Desperate to fill the pages with drawings, not “new” facts about Europe. His fingers twitched. He bit his lips. 

There was still a half hour of class left and, so far, it just looked a continuation of the generic information they’d rushed through on Monday and for the last half hour. The lesson showed no signs of deviating, to changing into something useful and new. Tooru worried his lip between his teeth for a long moment before he dropped his head, pressed his hand to the paper. 

Leaves unfurled beneath the scratch of his pen, flowers bloomed, a slender hand took shape in the margins. Nothing elaborate, just quick sketches. Yet those calmed him, cleared his head and made his muscles unclench and relax until he was loose, a small smile on his lips. The teacher’s voice fell away into a dull drone, the coughs and rustles disappeared completely. The page came to life in the margins of his page - and then it all collapsed when chairs scraped and Tooru raised his head as the class began to pack their things. 

Tooru closed his notebook with a sigh and gathered his things slowly as students started to stream out. He had no need to rush - there was no one waiting on him, no point in going fast. The only things he had to focus on were two practice sheets and a book - easy things. Not distracting enough. He slung his bag onto his back, bit his tongue as he filtered out of the room with the other students. It was only the fourth day of class and he was already exhausted.  _ I could get a latte _ . It’d at least taste good, maybe keep him awake for a little longer. 

He went straight from Rein’s building to the coffee shop on campus. There were several people in line, but it managed to move quickly and within a few minutes he was back outside in the muggy heat of the day, a vanilla latte with an exorbitant amount of sugar in it cradled in his hands. And nowhere to go. 

Tooru stalled outside the café for a long minute before he sighed, curled his hand around the strap of his backpack, and started to walk. His dorm building loomed in front of him and with a swipe of his key card he reluctantly stepped in as thunder rumbled quietly in the distance. The only benefit was the air conditioning, but even that wasn’t enough to ease the dread. He wasn’t sure which was worse, the thought of an empty room or the thought of Hajime being inside. 

Saturday had been good, great even - the movies had made getting lunch together easy and had given him enough to talk about so that no painful silences has stretched between them. But that pathetic delusion of normalcy, of things being somewhat okay had quickly crumbled on Sunday. He’d rebounded, snapped back into himself, and Hajime had given up after a few attempts, not that Tooru could blame him. He’d been cold, distant, felt like he’d been covered in slime and absolutely disgusting. Monday and Tuesday had been a little better, especially considering the shared classes, but Tooru was still terrified.  _ I don’t want to mess things up, but it’s going to happen anyways. I want to care. I don’t want to care. _

His feet were slow on the steps, slower when he reached his hall. Tooru sucked down a deep breath before he unlocked the door. The room was empty and dark unsurprisingly, but it made him cringe anyway as he shut the door, flicked the light on, and dropped his bag by his bed. Tooru sagged onto the mattress with a sigh, then fell to his side. He couldn’t look at Hajime’s bed anymore - their beds had been bunked on Monday and Hajime had claimed the top bunk and now that the TV stand and a desk sat there instead. He wasn’t fond of it - it meant that he and Hajime ended up sitting on the same bed more often than not - but it offered a better angle to watch bullshit movies and shows than the previous arrangement. Tooru heaved a sigh and sat upright. 

It took a few moments to search through his bag and pull out a blue and white packet from between his English and European folders. It crinkled beneath his fingers, careful and hesitant. Pictures lay within, crisp and new. He’d had them sent to be printed on Tuesday and now they were in his hands, a scant handful. Yet they held _ so much.  _

He slowly pulled them out, spread them across his bed with a tiny smile and hesitant fingers that lingered on each one. His middle school volleyball team, back when he was a second year. Back when he was happy. Before things had gone to shit. Even back then he’d worn false smiles, but they hadn’t been so frequent, so forced. He actually looked genuinely happy in the picture,a  bright grin on his face and the ball clutched tight in his small hands, his shoulders brushing against his teammates. 

Beside that was a photo with an old friend, a girl who hadn’t lived long enough to see him fuck it all up. A picture of his dog, her golden fur bright in the sun, his arm draped around her neck, his sleeping body curled up close. Another one of her, one where her teeth were locked on a play rope, a tug of war between them frozen in time. Tooru touched the smile the tiny version of him wore - it was hard to believe that the happy child in the picture was actually him. They were two totally different individuals. 

The smile flickered, turned wry, and Tooru’s eyes moved along to the next picture. His mother stood to the right, her face soft with youth and happiness. His father stood on the left, tired but smiling, hair graying at his temples. Tooru between and holding tight to their hands, a radiant smile between his lips and shirt smudged with grass and dirt stains.  _ We look so happy _ . One month before his father had died. One month before his mother had started to close off from him. Three months before he’d fucked everything up, flesh giving beneath his fists. 

Tooru’s throat was thick and he swallowed around a lump that sat heavy in his throat. A thousand terrible memories were tied with that one picture, that one moment; yet a million more good ones were attached. Ones where his father had helped him learn how to set and serve and had taken him to watch high school volleyball matches on the weekends. Ones where his mother had woken him up with gentle kisses and soft words and had coaxed him out of his bed so he could eat a delicious warm breakfast before he trudged off to school. Good things. 

Tooru smiled softly as he brushed the picture with an almost reverent finger, then scooped them all up. He settled on his back, the horizontal bars of Hajime’s bed above. Slowly, carefully, he slid the pictures between the bars above until they hid some of the plastic mattress and instead smiling faces stared back at him. Tooru’s lips quirked faintly as he raised his hand, dragged his fingers along the bars slowly. 

Memories spruing in their wake, bubbling to the surface. Big hands that hooked beneath his armpits and hauled him up, laughter on their lips. Small, slender hands that pressed a handkerchief to his cheeks, wiping snot and tears away when his friend had died. A soft voice that melded with his as they pressed glow-in-the-dark space stickers to the wall of his room. His first successful jump serve. Tooru sniffed, felt dampness on his face. His fingers were wet when he touched his face, and Tooru sniffed again. 

_ If you hadn’t died maybe things would have been better _ . 

Or maybe he still would have run himself into ruin, reckless about his descent, craving only the destruction that came. Tooru’s fingers slipped beneath his sleeve, traced across the skin dappled with scars and fresh marks. His fingers dug in. The pain grounded him, chased the tears away, made him shiver, roll onto his side, and curl in on himself. He thumbed them twice more before he dropped his sleeve back into place. A sigh whispered out and he slowly let his eyes sink shut. 

_ God, when is this going to end? _

But there was no answer - there never was. The smile he pulled out was bitter, full of raw pain, and he pressed his face into a pillow, pressed his fingertips to the wall and dug in. The descent into sleep came with relief, so much that it loosened his limbs, made him smile as the black washed in. 

_ A pale thin face in front of him, blue eyes wide with admiration. A fire in his stomach _ . Go away _. Lips moved, formed words that barely made sense with the deafening, pounding rush in his head. But they were scarred into his mind, impossible to forget _ . I hate you. _ Coffin, his father inside the oak confines, face pale and slack. Skin cold. Disbelief churned his gut, froze him as the world spun. Black. White.  _

_ Red.  _

_ The crunch of a nose and that face was back, covered in blood, fear, confusion _ . 

Why?

_ His hands froze, breath caught. The face melted away, shifted. Wrinkles carved through his smooth skin as it rapidly darkened, grew rougher. Black hair receded, turned brown with silver streaked through. “D-Dad?”  _

_ The coffin swam nearby, a different body inside. Smaller, younger, weaker. Stained with blood, eyes wide.  _

Why?

_ “Why, Tooru?” His mother’s voice, a double echo, from the genius and his father’s lips. “Why are you such a disappointment? Can’t you be any better? That’s the only way I’ll love you.” _

Stop _.  _

_ His breaths came out in gasps as he sagged to his knees. Tremors ripped through his body, broke him apart. His father’s bloody, broken face loomed in front of him. Mouth curled. Words hissed.  _

_ “Why, Tooru? Why’d-” _

Tooru’s eyes snapped open as he heaved up, but something caught him, stopped him, pressed him back down. Tooru didn’t fight it, just laid there and gasped, eyes clenched shut. Cold sweat drenched his body, covered him, plastered his hair to his head. His heart pounded, frantic, erratic, tried to punch out of his chest. Breaths wouldn’t come, wouldn’t slow. Words hissed into his ears, incoherent, garbled. Doubled with his mother’s voice, cold and callous. 

_ Make it stop make it stop _ . 

A hand caught his, pulled it down, pressed his palm to something warm. Steady. Beat. Tooru’s eyes flew open again, wide. Short, spiky hair. Tan face, dark eyes. Scar. “Oikawa? Tooru?” He gasped again, ripped his hand out of Hajime’s grasp, jerked it into his chest with a wheeze. “I’m sorry, shit, sorry… hold on.” 

Hajime disappeared -  _ don’t leave me alone _ \- and was back in an instant, a blanket clutched in his hands. Hajime draped it over Tooru, wrapped it around him. When his hands returned Tooru didn’t recoil, didn’t feel the need to vomit - not from that anyways. He trembled as Hajime pulled him into a tight embrace, and his gasps filled the room, but nothing else. Slowly, so, so slowly, his heart began to falter and slow, and his breathing eased back to normal. But he couldn’t stop shaking.  _ I’m sorry. I’m so sorry _ . 

His chest ached, burned. Tears filled his eyes to the brim and spilled over, even as he tried to blink them away and choke them down. “H-Hajime?” The hands holding him tightened, firm, and Tooru felt breathless all over again.  _ Why’s he holding me? Why so tight? _

“I’m right here Tooru,” his roommate murmured, “I’m here.” 

Tooru sniffed and nodded as his fingers curled into the blanket and clutched tight at it. “What…” he managed to croak faintly, “What’re you doing b-back here?” 

“Study hall finished early.” 

“T-Talk.” Hajime’s brows raised, but he nodded after a moment, fixed his eyes on Tooru. The brunet could only meet his gaze for a few seconds before he flinched, looked away, but Hajime spoke anyways. “There are two freshmen on the volleyball team, Hanamaki and Matsukawa. They’re kind of idiots, but they’re smart and good players too. I think you’d like them. You’re an idiot too.” 

“Mean…” Tooru mumbled weakly - the words actually hurt, made him cringe, but the smile Hajime wore softened the blow ever so slightly. So did the realization that by ‘idiot’ he didn’t mean anything harmful.  _ Or maybe he does _ . Tooru swallowed hard, clenched his hands as Hajime continued. 

“They knew each other before this - they went to the same school so they work well together. I think Hanamaki is in love with Matsukawa, though I don’t think Matsukawa realizes it.” 

“Wow Iwa, so observant.” 

The jab was weak, but Hajime still snorted and flicked Tooru’s forehead gently. “Asshole. I’m plenty observant.” 

“Mhm, sure.” 

“Oh, shut up you loser.” 

Tooru managed a weak smile. One that didn’t feel so strange, so heavy. The hands cradling him tightened slightly, gentle, and Tooru started. He’d forgotten about the arms wrapped around him, the hands on his shoulder and waist. The warmth that radiated off of Hajime was strange, foreign.  _ I like it _ . But he shouldn’t - not when touching meant getting close.  _ But the blanket is between us. But we’re still touching _ . 

He weakly raised his hands and pushed on Hajime’s chest, a tremor lingering in his limbs. His roommate willingly let him go - but he eased him back onto the mattress first, then leaned back, and Tooru stared up at him with wide eyes. “... Why?” 

“Why what?” 

Tooru shrugged and Hajime smirked at him as he rocked back a little and settled his large hands around his ankles. It was clear that he wasn’t going to speak, but Tooru still took a long time to find his own words, rolling them in his mouth and tasting every single one before he shrugged. “Why… why did you hold me?” 

Hajime’s brow furrowed and he clicked his tongue. “You were having a nightmare, right? And then a panic attack?” Tooru nodded, wordless - admitting, denying, whatever he said wouldn’t change the fact that Hajime had  _ seen _ it - had seen him falling apart. Hajime nodded, his face soft. Too soft. Distractingly soft. It made Tooru want to bury his head beneath a pillow and hide away from everything - except for those deep brown eyes. But Hajime probably wouldn’t let him. “My mom would hold me when I had nightmares when I was younger. I thought it would help.” 

_ It did _ . But he would never admit it, no matter what.  _ How long has it been? Too long. _ He just nodded, wordless, and Hajime nodded back. Silence hung between them, not quite easy, but not entirely uncomfortable either. Hajime broke it first, his voice soft. “Do you want to watch some movies? We can get some Chinese and stay in here for the rest of the day.” 

“... That sounds alright.” He was too tired to fight it, too worn down to bother. “I’ll pay.” 

“No-” 

“As thanks.” A favor for a favor. Hajime had helped him, so he could buy food. That was enough. 

Hajime scowled, but he didn’t try to change Tooru’s mind. He just grumbled under his breath as he slid off the bed and stretched, his shirt riding up to show a thin strip of a tan, toned stomach. Tooru swallowed, tugged his eyes away. “Want to go now?” 

“Sure.” The response was automatic, spat out with no thought. His stomach was tight, churning still. He wasn’t sure he could actually manage to eat anything even though he hadn’t eaten since the night before. Her voice still rang in his ears, clawed away at his gut and left him weak, shaking. But he slid out of his bed anyways and slowly tugged his shoes on. Tooru grabbed his keys, phone, and wallet, but before he could step out Hajime pressed his jacket into his chest. 

“It’s raining again. You should put your rain boots on too.” 

“Aw, thanks Iwa!” The sugary tone and words burned on his tongue, but he smiled with them anyways. 

Hajime snorted and rolled his eyes, punctuated with a gentle kick to Tooru’s ankle. “Shut up and change your shoes.” Tooru stuck his tongue out and toed his shoes off. He tugged on his boots, black with little green alien heads printed on them - the first time Hajime had seen them he’d laughed, but now he just rolled his eyes with a tiny little smile.

With their rain jackets and boots on and their umbrellas in hand they left their dorm. It was raining lightly outside, enough that they didn’t bother with the umbrellas, but they splashed their way through deeper water puddles and made their way across the campus in the muggy afternoon air. Tooru kept his face neutral, but he couldn’t deny the sweat that crept down his back despite the thinness of his long sleeved shirt, or how uncomfortably hot the jeans felt. Hajime seemed perfectly fine in his tank top and cargo shorts, his expression easy. 

Tooru felt his gut twist, jealousy itching at his stomach. He wanted to wear those things too, short sleeved shirts and tank tops and shorts. But his arms and legs were ugly, dappled with scars that he’d lain so thick that skin couldn’t be seen in places, just scar tissue.  _ I hate this _ . He hated how those moments had taken his life and led it to ruin. He hated the person he’d become. One who couldn’t get close, one who had given up. One who craved ash and fire and destruction. Tooru’s hand rose, clutched at his arm. The fresh burns twinged beneath his heavy touch, but Tooru smiled through the pain, masked it from Hajime, who glanced back at him with unreadable eyes. Despite that, Hajime didn’t say anything, and Tooru didn’t bother to either. They just walked quickly through the mist of rain. 

Thankfully the restaurant was on campus, and it wasn’t hard to pick things out to eat. The workers spooned the food out of heated metal containers and dumped it into styrofoam containers and filled them to the brim, and Tooru’s stomach twisted as he watched them. The food looked good, smelled amazing. 

_ I shouldn’t eat _ . 

But he had to, and Hajime wouldn’t let him skip the meal. He’d quickly learned that skipping meals wasn’t a possibility when Hajime was around him. Tooru smiled weakly as he handed over the money, and Hajime scooped the plastic bag with their food with a hum that Tooru half-heard, already nearly at the door. 

The rain had picked up. Heavy gray clouds rolled overhead as thunder rumbled in the distance, and rain splattered across the windows with big fat droplets. A hand wrapped around his wrist, pulled him to a stop just short of the door. “Umbrella.”

“No fun,” Tooru grumbled back, the playfulness forced, but Hajime just snorted and tapped his foot until Tooru undid the umbrella, shook it out, and held it over their heads. Rain pattered onto the clear plastic, rolled down and dripped onto his shoulder. His eyes drifted up to the ridges of gray above -  _ how long will it last? How long will any of this last? Can I go home yet? Back home to Mom and Dad and Claire  _ \- but a touch to his elbow dragged him back almost immediately, refocused his eyes.

“Where do you go?” 

“H-Huh?” Tooru’s steps stuttered, then picked back up to match Hajime’s, and he chewed on the inside of his cheek, heart fluttering, as Hajime stared at him from the corner of his eye. 

His roommate sighed, shrugged. “You go somewhere - your mind does. I don’t know where, but I know you do. Always when it rains, but other times too.” 

“You’re not making any sense, Iwa,” Tooru teased with a soft smile. But he was - he was making too much sense. He knew he zoned out a lot, that his mind skipped away. His fingers twitched, ached. 

Hajime huffed, pulled his wallet out, then his key card. The dorm loomed ahead.  _ Too close _ . “You’re too distance, Tooru. I don’t know if you mean to be or not. Sometimes you push me away. Sometimes you’re just… not here.” Tooru bit his cheek harder as Hajime swiped his card. He held the door open, waited on Tooru to shake his umbrella and step inside before he continued. “We’re roommates Tooru. We can be friends. You can talk to me.” 

Tooru swallowed hard as he stabbed the elevator button. He could feel Hajime’s eyes on him, the burn of their stare impossibly hot and heavy. “I… I do talk to you, Iwa.” 

“... Kind of.” 

Tooru turned to him, a bright smile on his lips. It was too heavy to bear, but he pinned it up anyways. “I’m just settling in, Iwa! Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll be the best of buddies by autumn break.” Hajime snorted and stepped into the elevator, and Tooru let his smile flicker and soften to something more manageable. 

_ I’m so tired _ . 

The elevator doors slid shut with a quiet hiss and Tooru pressed his back to the wall. He peeked at Hajime beneath his eyelashes, worried his lip as Hajime shifted and glanced around - and, more often than not, settled his gaze on Tooru too. Hajime shifted. The elevator slowed. Hajime opened his mouth. “I’ll worry, Tooru. I want to be a good roommate.” 

Tooru froze as the doors slid open and Hajime stepped out. The brunet almost couldn’t move, his feet rooted in place.  _ Why? _

Hajime glanced back, one eyebrow raised. “Are you coming, or what?” Tooru stuck his tongue out with a scowl that he could only hope was playful before he stepped off too. They were halfway to their room when a door slammed shut behind them and a voice filled the hall. 

“Yo, Iwaizumi!” 

Hajime turned, and Tooru reluctantly did so as well. Two tall men were down the hall walking quickly towards them, one with curly black hair and droopy eyes and one with pink-tinged hair and a goofy smile. “Hey, Hanamaki, Matsukawa.” 

The names were vaguely familiar - and then Hajime’s words from earlier swam back to him. _“I think Hanamaki is in love with Matsukawa, though I don’t think Matsukawa realizes it.”_ _Not that I should care. But I want to. But it’s better if I don’t… shit_. 

The curly-haired one grinned as they came closer and stilled in front of Tooru and Hajime. “Iwaizumi, is this your roommate?” 

“Yep,” Tooru slid in. “I’m Iwa’s roommate! My name is Tooru Oikawa.” 

The curly-haired one grinned as he stuck his hand out and clasped Tooru’s hand, his palm rough and warm. “I’m Issei Matsukawa, one of Iwaizumi’s teammates. You call him Iwa, huh?” Hajime groaned quietly and pressed his hand to his face. That only made Issei grin as he shook Tooru’s hand and dropped it so the other one could step forwards with a rustle of his own takeout bag. 

“And I’m Takahiro Hanamaki! Nice to meet you.” 

“My pleasure.” _ Now go away. _

But Issei nodded his head at Hajime, eyes sparkling. “We’ve got food too. Wanna eat together?” 

“I’m good with that. Oikawa?” 

Three sets of eyes settled on him, made him want to shrink in on himself, even as he bit his tongue and smiled. “That’s fine with me, Iwa.” 

“Sweet,” Takahiro hummed. 

Tooru turned, and then he froze. “Iwa.” Their eyes fell back on him, and this time it wasn’t so hard to smile as he reached up and tapped the top of Hajime’s head. “You’re so short.”

It took two seconds for Takahiro and Issei to burst into laughter, loud and raucous, and Hajime scowled and swatted Tooru’s hand away. “Oh, shut up. I’m not that much shorter.” 

Tooru just smiled at him as he touched his shoulder and brushed past. The others trailed after him and poured into their room when he unlocked it. Shoes were dropped by the door, coats slung over chairs. They couldn’t all fit onto Tooru’s bed, so Takahiro and Issei settled onto the floor, pillows under their butts and backs against the bed, their plastic trays on their laps. 

As Tooru and Hajime opened their cartons up and rubbed their chopsticks together his eye fell down on the two players beneath him. Their shoulders bumped. Their keeps overlapped. Takahiro stole a piece of chicken from Issei’s tray with an easy grin. He couldn’t see Issei’s eyes, but Takahiro’s were impossibly soft and warm.  _ Well then. Issei has to be blind to not see that _ . But he couldn’t summon the energy to make a bitter thought, or even some sort of teasing comment. His fingers simply curled tight around his chopsticks. He could almost feel her fingers dig into his shoulders, nails sharp. Chills raced up his spine. 

_ “Why do you always fail us, Tooru? Can’t you do something good for once? Or are you simply going to be a terrible person for the rest of your life?” _

His hands shook as he pressed his back into the wall, eyes glassy, blank as colors shifted, melded on the screen. Thunder rumbled. Music played. None of it clicked. A hand brushed his and he slowly twisted his head, eyes wide, until Hajime filled his vision. “You okay?” the athlete whispered beneath the cover of music. 

Tooru stared at him for a long, long time before he turned forward once more. He bit his tongue. Dug his nails into his thigh. Forced himself to take a bite and swallow, his mouth dry and throat tight. It tasted bland, like ash, but he clung to that, desperate. The touch disappeared. Colors splashed across the screen, senseless. Tooru’s movements were mechanical as he choked down bite after agonizingly slow bite. Stiff.  _ Why’d it have to go this way? Why’d I have to end up here? What the fuck did I do to end up like this? _ But he knew the answer, of course he did. It had been seared into his mind. A coffin. A cold stare. A bloody face beneath him, streaked with two sets of tears. The cold eyes and faces of his classmates.

_ Fuck me _ . 

His fingers twitched, aching to be filled. Not by chopsticks. Not even by a pencil or a paintbrush. He wanted to hold one of his cloves, wanted to suck down smoke and hold it until his lungs burned and dark spots danced in his eyes. Wanted to press the smoldering edge to his skin and hiss and laugh and throw himself back onto the damp rooftop and let the rain fill his eyes, his mouth, soak him to the bone. Wanted it to numb him until his fingertips were blue and his lips pale. Until he closed his eyes and didn’t open them again. 

But he opened his mouth. 

Moved his hand. 

Chewed. 

Swallowed. 

_ Survived. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧ Another update my friends! I finally finished chapter 4 and am halfway through chapter 5, so once that's done I'll put 4 out! Until then leave me a comment, hit up my tumblr, and I'll see you next update!


	4. Chapter 4

Hajime stared blankly at his notes, not really absorbing anything. He hadn’t been able to for the last hour or so either, too many thoughts spinning in his head, all on a collision course like they were trying to go supernova or some shit. That terror-struck face lingered, latched on with sharp claws that he couldn't shake off. 

There were things he'd come to expect from Tooru. Swings from silence to chatter and back were normal, even if they weren't predictable. Rare genuine smiles at sci-fi movies were something he knew. The scent of nail polish and something else that was sweet and lingered in Tooru and his clothes. Stains of gray on his fingers. The distant looks he carried when he thought no one was watching. But he hadn't anticipated coming in to find Tooru shuddering on the bed, limbs shaking and jerking. Hadn't expected the quiet protests spoken to no one, or the sharp, potent horror in those deep brown eyes when they’d snapped open. He could still feel the phantom of Tooru's hand shoving him away, only to fall and tremble when the blanket replaced the touch of skin on skin. 

Tooru hadn't spoken of it in the two days that had passed, and the attempts Hajime had made had been met with hours of stiff, cold silence. His fingers curled on his textbook.  _ There's something that's not okay with him. _ But he couldn't do or say anything - not directly at least. Hajime buried his face into his hands with a soft groan.  _ Fuck, I don’t know what to do. _ The easiest thing was to go to a counselor with his concerns, but that wouldn’t necessarily play out well. Watching Tooru and staying by his side was another alternative, a little ridiculous though. 

“I’m not his mom,” he mumbled to himself with a shake of his head. But the worry still nagged at his stomach, left his mind constantly slipping back to Tooru. To those teary eyes that had spun around wildly at first, not really recognizing him for a moment. He groaned once more and let his head thump against his textbook. “Fuck… I’m not gonna get shit done.” 

With a sigh he closed his books and slid them back into his backpack. He tugged his rain jacket on, slung his bag over his shoulder, and slipped out of the quiet library. The downpour from earlier had tapered off into a weak drizzle and Hajime stood beneath the shelter in front of the library for a moment, breathing in deep until he could taste the rain and ozone and mud. And something else, familiar and sweet. 

He turned, eyes roaming, and then he stilled, eyes falling on a shape in the quad, beneath one of the sheltered areas. A familiar head of tousled brown hair shifted, fingers skittering along the hood that had been dropped around his neck, and he raised something to his lips.  _ Speak of the fucking devil. _ And yet he found his feet moving, carrying him forward through the rain, across the stretch of grass, and under the shelter. “Oikawa.” 

The brunet twitched and jerked around, eyes wide, but then they slipped to a lidded state once more. Smoke billowed from his lips, not as noxious as normal cigarettes. “Hajime.” But there was a teasing lilt to his voice, ever so slight. Hajime snorted and set his bag down on the picnic bench across from Tooru and settled on the table. Brown eyes flickered along his form for a moment before they flitted away once more. His fingers twitched, this time not stained with grays. 

“What’re you doing out here?” 

Tooru shrugged and took another drag, holding it for a moment before he exhaled once more, long and slow. Away from Hajime though. “Don’t know. Just wanted to walk. Decided to smoke. Yes, bad, I know. I don’t really care.” 

Hajime blinked and nodded. “Okay. I wasn’t going to though. It’s your choice, and as long as you don’t smoke in the room I really don’t care.” 

It was Tooru’s turn to turn an owlish stare on him for a moment before his eyes darted away again. The tremors in his hands had calmed though, and now his empty hand lay on his leg, relaxed. Still enough that he could see the thick nicks of scars that dotted the sides of his hands and fingers, the way the skin around his nails had been picked and chewed at. It suddenly clenched and disappeared into a jacket pocket, and when Hajime’s gaze continued up he found Tooru’s eyes on him, wary and uncertain. He huffed another stream of smoke out. “Why’re you here?” 

“Study hall.”  _ Though I wasn’t exactly studying. _ It was impossible to with the extraordinary weight that was Tooru on his mind.  _ Is it weird to be this worried about someone you barely know? I don’t know. _ But he  _ was _ living with Tooru. And that meant they had to tolerate each other at the minimum, and help each other out as much as possible at the best. Be friends even. But watching those eyes skitter across him, fleeting and timid, made him uncertain of that last possibility.  _ It doesn’t hurt to try. _ “How were classes?” 

Tooru blinked, worked the words around his mouth for a long moment before he shrugged. “They were okay I guess. Boring, but okay. Yours?” 

Hajime shrugged. “General stuff, y’know. Ready to get it done with already. But I’ve got a few classes I like at least.” 

“Good. Shit sucks enough as it is without having to drag ass through stuff you don’t like.” Tooru’s voice was sharp, and yet it wasn’t the fragile, barbed tongue that was sometimes directed at him. No, this time there was  _ real _ venom in his voice, fire in his eyes. His hands clenched for a moment, shaky, and then Tooru let his hands go loose as he tossed the cigarette down with a huff. “C’mon, let’s get food or something.” 

Hajime’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but he didn’t argue. It was the first time Tooru had asked to go get food rather than going along with Hajime’s suggestion. They gathered their things, pulled their hoods up, and stepped back out into the rain as the clock tower started to ring for seven. They walked in silence, splashing their way past other students who chattered cheerfully. Some of them called greetings to Hajime, and he tossed words back. But no one acknowledged Tooru past a cursory glance. 

_ Does he not have any friends? _ He’d never seen Tooru with anyone. He’d never mentioned anyone else past the general discussions of the people in class. No one had come to the room except for Takahiro, Issei, and a few other of the teammates, but when that happened Tooru usually made himself scarce. Hajime bit the inside of his cheek. Splashed through another puddle, water and mud rippling around his boot before he moved on. 

“Tooru?” His roommate grunted quietly. “Have you made any friends yet?” 

A rustle made him look over, and he found Tooru’s wide eyes and stiff face on him. His hands fluttered again, down by his thighs, before they came together and tangled in front of him, picking and scratching. “No. I don’t really talk with people.” 

Hajime nodded, looked ahead. “Are we friends?” 

This time Tooru actually stutter stepped and he lurched forward to keep his place by Hajime’s side. He looked at Tooru. Tooru stared ahead, resolute. But his expression was curious - closed off, with thought or with another cold shoulder mood, Hajime wasn’t sure, but also fragile in a way that made Hajime ache down to his bones. “We’re whatever you want us to be, Hajime,” Tooru said softly, voice nearly drowned out by the patter of rain on their hoods. 

Hajime eyed him for a long moment - enough that Tooru glanced over before they both looked ahead. He smiled faintly. “I guess we’re friends then.” Just inside his peripheral he could see Tooru’s hands twitch and still for a moment before they began to twist and rub again. This time Tooru didn’t say anything though, and he didn’t stop walking. They just moved forward and finally slipped beneath the cover of the Anami Center. 

They scuffed their feet along carpets by the entrance and followed the bright lights and scent of warm food into the cafeteria. They swiped their cards and slipped in. Tooru trailed after him to one of the counters. The contrast between their plates was stark, Hajime’s piled high with food while Tooru only got a little, just like every other time, but he didn’t comment. He just found them a booth along the wall that Tooru pressed into the corner of. His fingers danced along the tabletop, hesitant and unsure. Only when Hajime started to eat did Tooru pick his fork up and start to eat too, bites small and delicate. 

It was weird to watch, Hajime  _ knew _ that - and yet he couldn’t keep his eyes off Tooru. His roommate didn’t notice, eyes on anything but Hajime, peering around the cafeteria for a few moments before he fixed his gaze on the table and his food for a moment, and then his eyes were roaming again. His head bobbed to a beat only he could hear. Raw fingers tapped along to it on the table, rhythmic and careful. Those hands caught his eyes, with their slender scars and their thin callouses - and the red patches on the backs. “Are your hands okay?” he blurted. 

Tooru twitched, eyes flicking to him and focusing. “Huh?” 

“Your hands.” Hajime pointed to the red skin on the backs, faint but darker purplish streaks within. Tooru’s fingers fluttered. He nodded. “They just itch sometimes. It’s okay.” 

Hajime opened his mouth, words of concern threatening to spill out, but the expression that met that made him falter. Anger, the kind that screamed  _ “leave me alone” _ , but also fear. The kind of fright that left chills up one’s spine and replaced warm certainty with cool instability. The kind that cried a thousand different things, none of them meshing. Hajime smiled instead, and it felt as weak as those stupid fake smiles Tooru wore looked. “I’m looking forward to group discussions in English.” 

Tooru’s eyes lit up - whether he was genuinely excited or glad for the escape, Hajime couldn’t tell, but he rolled with it. He let Tooru chatter, overly bright and cheerful, his hands flipping around, too fast to see. It was only through gentle reminders that Tooru actually paused and finished his meal, rather than continue to ramble on and on about something that was, in all honesty, insignificant at best. But Hajime didn’t care. Because, despite the sham presented, it was still _ something. _ Not the hardened, silent version of Tooru, but not quite the overly excessive front he threw up sometimes. A little more to the middle. A little more  _ human. _ And it was a relief to see. So much that he just smiled and nodded and added his own comments until both of them had finished and they left, stepping back out into the rain. 

It was harder, and thunder rumbled overhead, threatening for even more. But it had become a familiarity, just like the parts of Tooru he’d become immersed with, no matter how unusual. He smiled to himself and shook his head as they lapsed back into silence, this one more comfortable than the one they’d had on the walk over. It made the trip to the dorm quick, easy, and when they rushed into the lobby as the skies really opened up, he was smiling. 

“Hey! It’s Iwa!” 

They both turned at the familiar voices, and Hajime’s smile stretched wider. “Hey Matsukawa, Hanamaki.” 

His teammates grinned at him from where they’d sprawled all over each other on the couch, a volleyball match on the TV on the wall in front of them. “Oh! It’s Tooru!” Takahiro chirped as he sat up a little, still half in Issei’s lap. “What’s up? You guys just get dinner?” 

“Yeah, we were actually being productive unlike you assholes,” Hajime teased. 

Loud laughter bubbled out of Issei, deep and rich, enough to shake them both as Takahiro thrust his tongue out at them. “Bring it on asshole,” he fired back. 

Hajime just shook his head. Beside him Tooru shifted. Those hands fluttered again, subtle, but still there. Hajime jerked his head at the two of them. “Do you guys want to come up? It’s better in our room.” 

Both of them perked up, grins spreading across their faces as they glanced at each other, and then to Hajime and Tooru. “Is that okay?” Issei said, head cocked to the side. 

Hajime glanced up at his roommate, who shrugged. That fake smile was back. Not fragile, but strong, sturdy, well-worn. “Sure, that’s fine with me!” 

_ I’m more likely to believe him when he’s smiling like that than the other way. _ Because there was something instinctively  _ wrong _ about the other one that made Hajime’s spine crawl every time he looked at it. There was more to every nuance of that asshole’s face than he could imagine - and yet Tooru was one of the easiest people to read, more obvious than he thought. An arm flung over his shoulder jolted him from his thoughts, right in time to see Takahiro’s face swooping in, a devilish grin on his lips. “Hajime!” he sang, “Do we need to pants you for not listening to us?” 

He rolled Issei’s arm off his shoulder and flicked at Takahiro’s forehead. “No, you just need to wonder why I'd rather tune your shit out than listen.” Takahiro lurched back and clutched at his heart in mock offense, but he grinned, shook his head, and patted Hajime’s shoulder. “C'mon, let's go already.” 

With laughter from that troublesome pair he and Tooru led the way to their room. Issei and Takahiro’s bubbly chatter instantly overtook the silence, seamless and easy to sink into. He let them in and bodies spilled into the room, shoes nudged off at the door, wet jackets slung onto chairs. It took a moment to arrange themselves, Hanamaki and Issei curled up close on the bed, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. Tooru took the far end of the bed, limbs pulled tight to his chest. Hajime grabbed a desk chair, spun it around, and settled in that as Takahiro fiddled with the remote. 

The game appeared, the familiar smack and thump of volleyballs and the squeak of shoes with it. Tooru pulled his limbs in tighter.  _ Right, he had bad experiences with it. _ But he hadn't had too many problems every other time Hajime had brought up practices and matches, even if he had gotten a little flighty. He spared Tooru another half-second stare before he focused on the game, a match between the Japanese and Korean teams. They were halfway through the third set, both tied with one set won, and the score nineteen to eighteen in Japan’s favor. They hadn't missed much if the pleased noises from Takahiro and Issei were anything to go by. 

The Japanese pinch server, a guy called Eita Semi, smacked the ball into the ground twice before his body stilled, then rocked into motion. The ball flew up and Eita leapt after it, body almost flying, and then his hand connected.  _ Jump float serve. _ The Korean team shifted, trying to follow the ball. Their libero called everyone off, but at the last moment his arms wavered as the ball shifted, and it ricocheted off his arms and out of bounds.  _ “Yes!” _ Issei shouted, “Service ace! Shit, that Semi dude is super good - he's from Shiratorizawa apparently, and the fact that he made the national team right out of high school is  _ so cool _ -” 

“Yeah,” Takahiro interrupted, “But he's only on the court because the other pinch is injured.” 

“Hush,” Issei shot back with a swat at his friend. Takahiro just giggled and caught Issei’s hand, closing it between his and pressing it to the top of his thigh. Their cheeks flushed, but to Hajime's amusement Issei didn't pull away and Takahiro didn't let go. 

He refocused his attention on the game, just in time to see the national team score another point, this time from a block. Eita served once more, this time a full power jump serve, and the libero dug it up. The setter moved forward and tossed the ball as four of the men ran forward, a first tempo combo. It went to the back where the ace rose above the middle blocker feint, and he drilled it through the falling hands of the Japanese defense. The libero and back row couldn't pick it up, and with that Eita rotated out and the game charged on. 

The third set ended in Japan’s favor and it cut to commercials, a break before the fourth set. Hajime leaned back and stretched as he looked to his friends. Issei had shifted so that his head was pillowed in Takahiro's lap, the wing spiker’s long fingers buried in his mess of curls. Tooru was on his phone, his thumb between his lips, and he chewed on it, eyes restless. His eyes flicked up after a moment, settled on Hajime. Tooru smiled faintly. “You liking the match so far, Iwa?”

“Yeah,” he said with a bob of his head, “It's good to watch professionals play - I know Coach was talking about us watching clips of it tomorrow during practice. Individual things so we can study their form and stuff.” 

“That's going to be easy for you,” Issei chipped in, “Your form is already stellar dude. I mean, the way you manage to get everything into it? That arm strength?” 

“Much arm, very muscle, such yes,” Takahiro giggled. 

Issei’s sleepy grin spread and he nodded, eyes glittering as he raised a thick eyebrow. “And those receives are a dream too. Not as good as Hiro’s, but-” 

“Aw, Issei, you're too sweet!” 

Tooru stirred, head rising as he blinked at the pair. “What positions do you two play?” 

They faltered for a moment before huge grins spread across their faces - clearly they'd expected that as much as Hajime had. “I'm a middle blocker,” Issei sang, pride and excitement hiding in that lazy gaze. “I was the best at my high school, and I've got a decent jump float serve.” 

“And I'm a wing spiker! Nothing like Iwaizumi over there, but still!” 

“Though,” Issei drawled as he prodded Takahiro's stomach, drawing giggles from the young man as he squirmed, “What he  _ won't _ tell you is that he has the some of the best receives for a non-libero, he's got strong blocks and stronger spikes, he can set really well even though he's a clumsy goof, and he's got great serves. Basically Hiro can do it all!” 

With the back of his head to Takahiro, Issei couldn't see how his words made his friend go bright red, mouth flopping open and closed before he settled on silence, burying his face into his hands. Hajime bit down on the inside of his cheek, desperate to hold back laughter. Thankfully, Issei's full attention was on Tooru, and he propped his chin up on his hands and peered at the brunet. “Did you play any sports? Volleyball?” 

Tooru hesitated for a moment before he jerked his head in a nod, fingers twitching, then settling. “I played volleyball,” he said breezily, careless, “I was setter for my middle school. Kitagawa Daichii.” 

Takahiro's eyes widened and his head snapped over. “As in the feeder school for Aoba Johsai?” 

Tooru's fingers tightened. He nodded. Hajime wasn't sure he was breathing anymore, eyes glued to Tooru's face. The shutters were back, threatening to close in, just like the falsity that rippled through his face, slow but sharp. “Yeah.” 

“Where did you go then? I don't remember seeing you there when we played them!” 

Tooru's hands fluttered, squeezed his knees. “I didn't go to Aoba Johsai. I stopped playing volleyball after middle school.” Before they could respond he slid off the bed, movements jerky. “Sorry, I'm gonna get some air real quick.” Tooru strode over to his desk, snatched up his jacket, shoved his shoes on, and darted out, leaving a wake of stiff silence behind him. 

Hajime slowly turned around and found two pairs of eyes on him, wide with confusion. Takahiro found his words first, shattering the silence as he raised his eyebrows. “What the fuck is his problem?” 

Hajime stiffened and his eyes narrowed, hands going tight on the chair for a second before he sighed. “I don't know the full details, but I think something really bad happened with volleyball.” 

Takahiro's mouth dropped open, closed, opened again. “Fuck, shit man, I'm sorry, I thought he just didn't like us.” 

Hajime shook his head and leaned forward on the chair, buried his chin into his palms. The game was back on, but his teammates’ eyes were on him. “He's hard to read, but I'm pretty sure he likes you. But if he acts like an ass, don't take it to heart. Sometimes he gives me the cold shoulder, but I think it's because he's got a lot going on.” 

“Makes sense,” Issei said after a moment. 

Takahiro nodded, his hands settling back into Issei's curls. “So… should we not talk about volleyball around him?” 

“How does he even survive living with you?” Issei added. 

Hajime shrugged. “I talk about it, and usually he's okay. I guess just give him space and switch topics if he looks like he needs it.” 

Issei laughed. “We'll try then, but he's a little hard to understand.”

Hajime snorted and glanced at the pair. “Trust me, I know. I never know what’s going on in that head of his, and I  _ live _ with him.” This time they both laughed, and Hajime couldn't help but smile before he turned his attention back to the game. Korea scored two points before he spoke, voice muted with the sounds of the game and the hushed fall of rain as a backdrop. “You guys don't have to be friends or anything with him, or even deal with him - I'm sure you think he's a pain in the ass, no matter what his past was like.” 

“Maybe,” Takahiro hummed, “But he also maybe just needs a friend or two.” 

“Or three lovable assholes, just like us!” Issei sang. Takahiro and Hajime grinned at him, but then Issei sat up, that teasing expression falling away. “We can look after him. I don't mind trying to be friends with him. He seems like an okay dude, and if you like him then he's worth our time.” Takahiro nodded, genuine agreement shining in his eyes.

Hajime's chest was tight, his throat thick as he smiled at his friends. “Thank you.” 

They just grinned at him, no traces of teasing within those twin expressions. The three of them settled into a comfortable silence, filled only by the sounds of the match as Japan and Korea went back and forth, the volleys breathtaking in their own unique way. The points racked up, crossing ten, then fifteen. When it was eighteen to seventeen for Japan the door opened and Hajime twisted around so fast his back popped. Tooru looked more pathetic than a soaked, bedraggled kitten, shivering as he slowly pulled his shoes off. His hair was plastered to his forehead and from the knees down his legs were soaked. But his hands were trembling less and there was a little more color in his cheeks as he stripped down to his thin sweater and pants, shaking slightly. 

“It’s raining,” he said softly with a weak smile. 

For a moment there was silence, and then Takahiro burst into laughter that jarred Issei, still firmly situated in his lap. Tooru’s eyes flickered, but Takahiro swept in before he could close off again. “Oikawa! Or Tooru - would you rather be called that? Shit man, call me Takahiro. Or Hiro like this asshole.” He jabbed playfully at Issei, who snorted and squirmed beneath the friendly assault, still chattering away. “You’re funny.  _ Of course _ it’s raining here. At this point I’m surprised we don’t all look like drowned rats. Y’know, Issei looked absolutely  _ pitiful _ the other day because it was like, a fifty percent chance of raining and he said  _ ‘Oh, it won’t rain, I’ll be fine without my rain gear’ _ , and then after morning workouts I see him standing underneath a covering watching the rain. I kid you not, he was fucking  _ crying _ -”

“I was  _ not _ !” 

“Okay, maybe not, but it was pretty damn close, and it was funny as hell.” 

Tooru’s smile cracked a little wider and he nodded at them. “I guess he learned from that.” 

“You bet your fucking ass I did,” Issei grumbled with a shake of his head before he looked away from the game and to Tooru as well. “You should get changed. It’s kinda cold in here, and you’re wet, so that’s gotta feel like shit.” 

Tooru hesitated for a moment, brow slightly scrunched, before he nodded and grinned. “Aw, Mattsun cares about me! That warms my heart!” 

Takahiro cackled as Issei blinked at Tooru, who dug around in his drawers for a pair of sweats and socks and then disappeared into the bathroom. When the door closed firmly behind him the pair’s eyes returned to Hajime. He couldn’t help but smile. “Y’know, the whole reason we’re up here is to watch the game,” he said with a gesture to the TV. Issei flipped him off. Takahiro just grinned, almost Cheshire-like, and they settled back down, eyes returning to the game. The score had risen a little more, twenty to twenty. 

“Do you think Japan is going to win?” Issei said as they watched the Korean team serve. The Japanese libero dug the ball and the spikers tensed, ready to move forward. 

“Yeah - they’ve got a strong, rounded team,” Hajime said, “And their attacks are stronger.” The wing spiker powered through the three-man block on him and it slammed to the ground behind them, the libero diving in a fraction of a second too late. 

“But Korea’s blocks remind me of Dateko back in high school - Iron Wall ‘n all.” 

Hajime smiled and nodded as he leaned forward. “They’re good, yeah. Read blocking too for the most part.” 

The bathroom door creaked open and Tooru crawled back into his position on the bed. Hajime couldn’t help but watch, all too conscious of his roommate. All too intrigued by the way he didn’t hug his legs to his chest this time, but instead sat with them crossed, more naturally. He smiled and turned his attention back to the match. 

Korea’s ace spiked the ball, but the looming hands of the Japanese defense beat it back down, only for the libero to save it. The Korean team set up another attack, third tempo this time, with all of their men save for the libero and setter rushing forward. “Dangerous,” Issei had time to breathe as the toss went up.  _ Pipe. _

Sure enough, the middle blocker in the front was a decoy for the ace to rise from behind, his body arched, arm back. The ball shot past the net, slammed into the liberos arms, and knocked him flat onto his back as the ball flew to the back of the gym. One of the players darted after it and dove, but he fell short and the ball thumped to the ground. The cries of the audience nearly overwhelmed the commentator. 

Hajime looked to his friends, Issei and Takahiro still sprawled together, Takahiro’s eyes absurdly soft as his fingers worked through his friend’s hair, Tooru looking a little more at ease with the whole situation.  _ Maybe things are changing. _ He smiled and turned back to the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (๑•́ ₃ •̀๑) Leave this poor, starving author some comments yo, and remember to hit me up at my writing blog for more quality (trash) content


	5. Chapter 5

Smoke curled into the sky, heavy as usual with darkening gray clouds slowly filling with rain. Tooru stared up at it, half in the shade from the air conditioning unit, half out. He pressed the cigarette to his lips again and inhaled until his head spun, held it for a minute, and then let it all out in a steady stream. One more drag brought it to a nub and he sat up, lidded eyes on the smoldering end. A practiced move of his pinky pulled his sleeve up and he pressed it to the inside of his elbow. Pain dragged its way through his arm, leaving tingling in its wake, and he sighed slowly as he tossed the cigarette aside.  _ Better. _ Better after three fresh burns laid neatly beside a row of cuts that still had blood lingering inside the grooves. 

Feet scraped the rooftop as he dragged his legs into his chest, cheek to one knee as he held his arm out. A cautious thumb swept along the marks and paused. His finger dug in. Pain prickled through his nerves, more and more until he winced and drew his hand away. But his mind was calm, blank, even if his chest felt impossibly tight. 

One breath, two. 

Tooru tugged his sleeve back into place, grabbed his bag, and headed downstairs, skipping past his floor to go to the lobby. The idea of being in there alone made his stomach twist, even though when Hajime was there he wanted nothing more than to be alone - right until the conflicted feeling settled in his chest at the thought of his roommate leaving. It was frustrating to still wrestle with that after three months. Even more so to be so totally  _ lost  _ with Hajime gone for the weekend, paying a visit with his family to catch his younger brother's first middle school volleyball tournament. Tooru bit his tongue as the doors slid open and he darted out, ducked back into the cool October air.  _ You can do it. Just stay busy. Keep moving. Study. Draw. _

His steps stuttered and he shook his head.  _ Not that. Just give it up already. _

But his fingers itched, the feeling that never truly went away, a longing he crushed savagely beneath the heel of his boots, right beside spent cigarettes. Ones that he was already craving again. 

He bit his tongue and shoved his hands deep into his pockets instead, head down. Leaves crackled underfoot. Laughter and warm voices teased him, flickering around as people walked around, relieved for another day off. His hands tightened on his backpack straps. Without the mind-numbing nature of class he only had the work to cling to, and past that - well, that was a desperate gamble for anything that could hold his thoughts off long enough to make a difference.  _ But what is there to distract me now?  _ He’d already finished all his course work. He had no friends to keep his attention - no one to fill the deafening silence and those overwhelming screaming in his head.  _ I could watch some shows or movies. Something to keep me busy. Read even. Sleep. No drawing. _

His steps slowed until he was at a stand-still in the middle of the sidewalk, back stiff, hands half-curled by his sides. “This is stupid,” he breathed as he tipped his head back. 

The sky overhead was gray, dark with the promise of more rain. A little longer and soon it would snow. But he was prepared - he’d brought everything necessary up that first day, desperate to avoid another trip home.  _ Right. Christmas is soon. I’ll have to go home.  _ A sigh rattled out of his chest. He didn’t want to go. There were too many memories etched into those chilly austere halls, too much silence in the air. He knew what would come - and yet, somehow, it felt like he couldn’t imagine it.  _ Things will be the same. They’re not changing. No matter what I try they’ll always be the same.  _ His sister couldn’t stop that or save it. Neither could Hajime.  _ He _ certainly couldn’t, and his mother simply  _ wouldn’t.  _

_ This is bullshit.  _

A hand slapped his back. Tooru flinched and whirled around, anger blistering as it sparked in his belly. It cooled a moment later, left a chill in its place. “Oh.” 

“ _ ‘Oh’, _ is that all?” Takahiro teased as he leaned close, tongue ring flashing as he stuck it out and waggled it at Tooru. “Be more excited to see me!” 

“And me,” Issei piped up, smirking as he waggled his thick eyebrows. 

Tooru just scowled at them, lips pursed and eyes narrowed before he snorted. “I’d probably be more excited to see you if you didn’t try to punch my lungs out  _ every _ time I saw you.” 

Takahiro just grinned at him and winked. “That’s too easy Oikawa! At least I’m not Iwaizumi - he’s got those arms, yeah? And that makes it  _ hurt _ \- I thought I wasn’t going to be able to breathe the other day when he slapped my back after a volley!” 

Issei grinned lazily and ruffled his friend’s hair fondly. “It’s my goal to get him to slap my ass.” 

“You wouldn’t be able to sit for  _ days _ ,” Takahiro whispered, eyes wide. His friend just beamed, all too excited at the prospect. Takahiro threw his head back, barking out a laugh as he shook his head. “Issei! Do I have to fucking kink shame you, ya filthy bastard?” 

“Maybe,” the curly-haired man drawled, eyes glittering. 

Tooru eyed them for a moment longer before he pivoted. “Well, great to see you and all, but-” 

“Oh, shit! Oikawa!” Issei yelped. 

Tooru bit back a sigh as he twisted to face them again.  _ “What?” _

Issei blinked at him before he smiled, warmer this time, eyes a little wider. “Do you want to come get lunch with us? ‘S probably pretty damn boring without Iwaizumi!” 

“I-” 

“We’re going to go to this cool place that has awesome cheese-filled hamburger steak - that’s Issei’s  _ favorite _ \- and then to a nearby bakery! They’ve got the  _ best _ cream puffs, and my classmates say that their milk bread is awesome too!” 

Tooru’s eyes widened a little at that and he shifted, uncertain. “... Milk bread?” 

Takahiro’s grin was downright  _ evil _ as he settled an arm onto Tooru’s shoulder and ruffled his hair, oblivious to the way Tooru tried to flinch back and away, though that only drove him into Takahiro’s touch. “The best milk bread this side of the river,” he purred, then flung his other arm out, gesturing wildly. “They say that the head baker sold his soul in order to make the tastiest treats known to man. Cakes, fudges, sweet blessed cream puffs, and, yes,  _ milk bread _ , and-” 

“Hiro, shut the fuck up,” Issei choked out between guffaws, hideous and loud and  _ easy _ . 

The young man only grin and gave an excited wiggle before he bounced back a bit and beamed at Tooru. “Well? Do you wanna come? I’ll pay for your food at the bakery!” 

Tooru bit his lip and glanced to the side. He couldn’t deny that he was hungry - he hadn’t eaten since Hajime had dragged him to breakfast the morning before, and the days had been marked by one meager meal, maybe two if his body was fortunate enough to tolerate the mere thought of it. His stomach twisted, almost painful, and he hesitantly nodded as he managed a weak smile. “Okay.” 

Takahiro’s smile flashed, all sunshine and warmth as he grabbed Tooru’s hand. “Good! C’mon then, there’s no time to waste - the bus is gonna leave soon!” 

Takahiro took off and Tooru found himself running behind him, hand clutched tight between those fingers, steady and sure. He could hear Issei and Takahiro laughing, giddy, filling the cool November air with their delight and turning heads as they ran, but they didn’t stop. Tooru’s find spun, but he clung to it all, focused himself on their laughter, their voices as they led him across the campus. His stomach flipped, nervous anticipation settling there in a solid knot. 

_ I want to be like them.  _

A wry smile curled his lips, hidden from their eyes, and he shook his head as he let them drag him past the cafeteria, past the gyms. His lungs ached as rapid breaths pushed through his chest, so startlingly different from panic attacks. His calves and thighs burned, familiar despite the years. A smile flickered to his face - a  _ real _ one - as air filled his lungs, his heart thumping, blood coursing. 

They hurdled down a short slope towards the bus stop, where the bus pulled into with a screech of brakes. Feet slapped the concrete, frantically stuttering and trying to stop before they slammed into the vehicle. They somehow managed not to smash themselves into it and stood on the sidewalk - well, Takahiro and Issei did anyways. Tooru slumped, grabbed at his knees as he wheezed, chest and legs  _ burning.  _ “Holy… fuck,” he panted weakly. 

Issei laughed, a loud, booming sound that made Takahiro join in as they patted his back. “Looks like someone needs to join us in the gym,” Issei teased as he smoothed his hand along Tooru’s shoulder blade before he nudged him upright. “C’mon now, they’re gonna go in like, a minute. Grab your student ID.” 

Tooru grumbled, still panting, but straightened up, pulled his ID out, and followed them in. It stank of body odor inside, but they all flashed their cards and found seats in the back, Takahiro and Issei squished together while Tooru perched on the one adjacent, fingers settling in his lap as he sagged forward, pressed his forehead to the seat in front of him as he wheezed pitifully. “Jesus Christ… I’m never letting... you assholes... do that to me ever again… you hear?” 

They both flashed crooked grins at him and Takahiro wiggled his fingers as he bounced in his seat. “It's okay Oikawa, you can join us in the gym and get in shape that way! That way you'll be better prepared for next time!” 

His nose crinkled with disgust, but the pair only burst into laughter, shaking and clutching at each other as heads turned toward them, confused at the commotion. Tooru shook his head and sighed slowly, hands clenching, nails digging into his palms. The burn in his chest was foreign. He remembered it from middle school, but it surely hadn't been so bad, so rough.  _ Is it the cigarettes? The fact that I've been sitting on my ass for four years? _

He bit his tongue, closed his eyes. Pressed a brutal thumb to the inner part of his arm and drew in another shaky inhale before he cracked his eyes open once more. 

Issei's eyes were on him, disconcertingly sharp, as though he could see right through Tooru.  _ Not possible. They both barely know me.  _ Even his own  _ roommate _ barely knew him. Then again, how was one supposed to describe the endless crush of self-loathing fed from toxic memories and barbed words that clung tightly, incessant? He wasn’t sure if it was possible. He certainly hadn’t tried. It was simply better to avoid, to shove it all down and pretend it didn’t exist. 

Tooru smiled faintly, aiming for a distraction, no matter how pathetic. “Makki, Mattsun, I'd rather be hit by one of the athletic buses than exercise with you both.” 

Issei clutched at his heart, mock offense flashing across his face as Takahiro pulled out a fake crying face. “But Tooru-” 

“ _ No _ , Mattsun.” 

Takahiro giggled and turned to his friend, ruffling that crazy curly hair with both hands. “Mattsun! Mattsun is super cute! Bless Oikawa for finding a way to make your ugly mug adorable.” He dropped his hands and whirled back to face Tooru almost immediately, the tips of his ears red, fingers twisting with uncertainty in his lap. 

Issei gaped at the back of his head for a moment, cheeks flushed too, before he shook his head and tossed a smile at Tooru. “Why'd you give us all nicknames, huh?” 

Tooru shrugged and wrung his hands for a second. “Because it's a free country probably,” he drawled as he stuck his tongue out and flipping the man off. 

Issei gasped, hand over his heart. “Well! I declare! I never- such a lack of manners, young man!” His pitched voice cracked and he rocked forward, clutching at his stomach as he burst into fresh laughter, Takahiro giggling right beside him as he shook his head and reached across the aisle to pat Tooru’s leg until he shifted it as far away as possible. 

“Don’t worry,” he stage whispered to Tooru, “I don’t really know him, he’s just this dude I’ve been stuck with and forced to pretend to be friends with for years.” 

Issei let out an indignant squawk and slapped Takahiro’s back, a strong move that made the man wince before he winked at Tooru. “We’re in it to win it.” 

“I’m in it for the milk bread.” 

“... You’re in it to win the milk bread.” 

Tooru snorted and shook his head, but he didn’t protest as Takahiro beamed at him before he whirled around to face Issei. They pawed at each other for a few moments, a mock slap fight, before Issei shoved Takahiro forward gently and grinned at Tooru. “By the way, you got Tumblr, right?” 

Tooru scowled, but he pulled his phone out and passed it over. They both crowed with delight and whipped their own phones out. When they passed his phone back he had two notifications - ‘craaaayz8s’ and ‘memelorddd69’ had followed his blog, titled ‘smokeskreen’ because he hadn’t been able to think of anything else when he’d sat on the roof the day before, smoking while Issei and Takahiro blew his phone up, demanding he download the app. 

His blog was still vacant, unedited even, but he took a moment to glance over their blogs. Takahiro’s mobile dash was bursting with bright colors, full of aesthetic pictures of flowers and nature mixed with volleyball videos and interspersed with random things that Tooru managed to recognize as memes. Those mostly consisted of Kermit and the other green frogs, ones he vaguely recognized. Issei’s on the other hand was full of art and darker photography, full of images of water and smoke and, naturally, strange memes and amusing posts that starkly contrasted the otherwise calm nature of his blog. 

Tooru glanced up at the two, who stared at him expectantly, eyes crinkled as they grinned and wiggled. “Well?” Takahiro prodded after a moment. 

“I hate you both,” Tooru said dryly. But as they fussed at him, he followed their example and settled back in his seat, eyes out the window. 

His phone pinged a moment later and he glanced at it. He frowned a second later and turned a bland stare on the pair across the aisle, who smiled at him, the image of vomit-inducing innocence that made him crack a weak smile of his own as he shook his head and looked back at the gif Takahiro had sent him, a cat shooting lasers from its eyes while pizza flew behind it on the space background.  _ I don't think I want to understand.  _

But it was amusing, and he watched it for a long moment before he settled back and let the world pass him by, eyes closed, head tipped back, until two fingers tapped his shoulder. He glanced up and found amber eyes peering down. “We're here,” Takahiro sang softly, and Tooru groaned as he rose. 

He let the pair usher him off the bus and onto the sidewalk where they stood for a second before Issei grabbed Takahiro's hand and pointed it down the street. “It's down there!” He dropped Takahiro's hand instantly, and Tooru watched, half-interested, as Issei's ears went dark while Takahiro flushed and glanced away, shy, both of them lapsing into silence for a moment. He snorted. The pair turned on him, grinning, still flushed, and waggled their eyebrows at him. 

“What’s so funny, Oikawa?” Takahiro trilled. 

Tooru flicked him on the forehead. “Nothing. I just want milk bread.” 

Takahiro whined at him, but they settled into place on either side of him and started to walk, the two of them chattering animatedly, gestures wild and bold - but after one of them pointed in front of his face and he flinched back, heart pounding, no more movement passed in front of him. Their conversation never broke though. They never acknowledged it. 

_ They can’t know.  _

He steadied himself as they crossed the street and then entered the corner shop. It was rich with the scent of meat and spices, dizzying. A painful reminder of just how  _ hungry _ he was. Tooru’s stomach twisted painfully and he curled an arm over it, took a breath, and smiled. 

_ I have to try to eat. I can do it.  _

They ordered their food individually and found a round booth tucked in the corner that they slid into, Tooru squished between them once more. He scowled at them, but they met that look with brilliant grins and patted his shoulders. “Don’t worry,” Issei said as he squirmed and bobbed his head, eyes glittering, “We’re just making sure you don’t get one taste of the food and run off.” 

“Oh yeah, that happens a lot,” Takahiro sighed, “Especially when they find the cockroaches in the center… Man, that was hilarious.” 

Tooru eyed them both, the teasing so blatant even a toddler could see it. It took them another beat to break though, and Issei tossed his head back, Adam’s apple bobbing as he chuckled while Takahiro tucked his mouth behind his hand, smothering giggles of his own. Tooru blinked at one, then the other, then looked forward and sighed as he propped his chin on his hand. “I hate you both.” 

Takahiro flung himself onto Tooru’s shoulder with a pathetic sniffle. “No you don’t Tooru…” he said softly, and then he thrust his hand out, wiggling his fingers as he slowly moved it in an arc. “I can show you the world… shining, shimmering, splen-” 

“Dude, stop quoting  _ Aladdin,  _ that shit’s like…  _ ancient _ .” 

Takahiro leaned back with a scandalized gasp as he stared at his friend, then snapped his fingers in some strange formation and let out a sassy hum of disagreement. “ _ Boy,  _ oh no you just  _ didn’t.  _ I thought I raised you better-” 

“You didn’t raise me dumbass-” 

“What would your father say?” Takahiro cried as he draped himself back across Tooru once more, the back of his hand pressed to his forehead. “Hajime and I agreed to tell him he wasn’t adopted, but I’m starting to rethink that choice,” he stage-whispered to Tooru. 

He snorted and shook his head, then gently shoved the other student off him. Takahiro beamed at him, eyes glittering, as he propped his head on his hand too. 

Issei, on the other hand, busied himself with folding a napkin into what looked like some poor attempt at the beginnings of a paper airplane. “So Tooru, how are your classes going? How was summer break?” 

He licked his lips, tried to ignore the catch in his throat. “It was… good. I spent it with my sister and her son.” Takeru had begged him to play volleyball with him, to teach him his jump serve. But the thought had left him sick and shaking, even just to touch the ball. The beginning hadn’t lasted long. He still wasn’t sure if his sister had talked to Takeru or not. Just that that after that the questions about volleyball had become questions about video games and books, and those had been easier. 

“Oh, you have a sister?” 

“Yeah, Akira. She ‘n Takeru live back in Miyagi, though in a different school district than what we originally attended.” 

Issei perked up. “Really, what school-  _ ow,  _ son of a  _ bitch,  _ what the- oh.  _ Oh.  _ Oh my God.” 

Tooru blinked and glanced between the pair, who both turned to him with bright grins and crinkled eyes. “Oikawa, speaking of schools, we’re going to be playing a university from Tokyo in a few weeks. You should come see us!” Takahiro grinned at him, encouraging, but all he could do was blink.  _ What the actual fuck just happened?  _

A call for their orders saved him from having to answer though, and they all spilled out of the booth, grabbed their trays, and headed back. Issei wasted no time in unwrapping his cheese-filled hamburger steak, cheeks puffed out and eyes glazed in happiness from the first bite onwards. Takahiro just laughed at him and gently kicked him beneath the table before he dug into his own hamburger, this one more traditional, though he ate it carefully, wrapper between it and his fingers as he chowed down. And it left Tooru picking at his own burger, tearing at the bread of the bun as he hesitated. 

Issei nudged him and he glanced up. Those dark brown eyes were heavy on him, serious, curious. “You gonna eat?” he mumbled around a mouthful of food. 

Tooru smiled weakly, eyes crinkling as he nodded. “Yeah, of course. Just gotta make sure it’s not poisoned.” 

Takahiro snorted beside him and shook his head as he swallowed, one hand to his chest. He shot a half-assed glare at Tooru and shook his head. “I’m glad I didn’t choke on that, you asswipe.” 

Tooru managed a grin and winked at Takahiro, who stared at him with wide eyes for a long moment before he took another bite of his burger. Tooru turned back to his own sandwich, ran his tongue along his teeth, and took a slow breath to calm his uneasy stomach.  _ It’s okay. I can eat. I need to eat.  _

He picked it up, bit in, and chewed slowly, the act harder than it should have been. But he managed. And when he opened his eyes he found two pairs of eyes snapping away from him. He didn’t bother to question it. He just took another bite. Focused on chewing methodically, swallowing, and keeping it down as he let their conversation wash over him. Issei rambled about volleyball - apparently he’d perfected the float serve enough that the coach wanted him to try the jump float serve to add to his skills. 

Takahiro rotated between middle blocker and wing spiker, his read blocking the best among the first years - better even than half of the second years if Tooru remembered Hajime’s words right. He’d discussed the team more than once, usually when rewatching matches that Tooru had asked questions about. Takahiro was jack of all trades kind of player, good at anything he put his mind to. Issei was more specialized, lacking the consistency in his spikes but doing more than enough to make up for it with his solid blocks, his read blocking on par with Takahiro’s. 

Hearing them talk made a tiny spark of jealousy bubble up in Tooru’s stomach, but he swallowed it down with a bite of his meal and let the conversation lull him into something other than a constant ache of anxiety and uncertainty. He just let himself drift, focused half on their words, half on his food, until most of it was gone and he sat back, stomach uncomfortably full. 

Takahiro glanced at him and smiled. “You like it?” 

Tooru licked his lips. He hadn’t focused too much on the taste, just on getting it down. But it hadn’t been bad. Better than the microwave noodles he’d had for meals to soothe his stomach. “Yeah. It was decent.” 

Takahiro grinned and nudged their knees together. “Good! Does that mean we can drag you back here more often? I mean, Coach and the trainer would kill us if we came here more than once or twice a week since it doesn’t really fit in with the meal plan, but-” 

“It’s not like it’s hurting us, plus we only get it on off days!” Issei chimed in cheerily as he polished off the last of his own meal with a pleased hum and a quiet burp. “But really though,” he said after a moment, eyes cutting over to Tooru, “It’s nice to hang out with you, and if you want we’d love to take you all over town. Iwaizumi could come too since we’re all usually free at the same time.” 

Tooru’s fingers went tight on his tray as his stomach twisted, this time for an entirely different reason. His heart was back in his throat, tongue tied as he looked from one to the other, thoughts spinning.  _ I should tell them no. But I don’t want to. This is actually… nice. But they’ll just think I’m a freak soon. They’ll hate me soon enough. I shouldn’t even bother. I-  _

“I’d… like that.” 

They both beamed at him and clapped his back, even as he dropped one hand to his lap, fist clenched tight and barely breathing despite the smile on his lips. “Atta way, Oikawa,” Takahiro sang, “Now, let’s go get that milk bread.” 

He nodded. Smiled. But all he could feel was the gulf already growing between them, dug by his own bare hands.  _ I made a mistake.  _ Not one built on hatred, not from them, not yet - but some part of him had simply disconnected. 

Gone away. 

Left him even quieter than before as he walked between them, faking a smile and cheery responses as it all blurred around him, time slick and words merely sounds behind a shroud of fog that filled his brain. He went through things automatically, stiff and forced. Dutifully thanked Takahiro for the milk bread, and then the both of them when they parted for their rooms. 

But once the door to his room closed behind him he sank to the floor, unseeing, hands tangled in his hair, milk bread abandoned on the floor.  _ I’m so stupid. So fucking stupid.  _ Stupid for thinking he had a shot pretending to be normal with people like them. Stupid for even trying. Stupid for bothering to exist in the first place. 

It wasn’t much longer before he found himself on the rooftop, a fresh cigarette in his hand, sleeve tugged up, ready for more burns.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [fairylights101](http://fairylights101.tumblr.com/) and [fairylights101writes](http://fairylights101writes.tumblr.com/)  
> Track this fic on my writing blog with the tags #fic: where it rains and #fic: wir  
> Comments are very welcome.


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